


Devil at the Crossroads

by haleyross



Series: The View From The Observatory [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Case Fic, Drama, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Original Character(s), Post-Season/Series 03, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Supernatural Elements, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:43:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 344,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleyross/pseuds/haleyross
Summary: Set after the first part of this series, Crime and Punishment, this post Season 3 AU has Lucifer and Chloe exploring their burgeoning – and semi-official relationship as Lucifer finds himself unable to control changes that are happening to his body. Meanwhile, Amenadiel tries – and mostly fails – to get a straight answer out of his father.





	1. "Miami"

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second part of this series! If you haven’t read the first part yet, I would recommend reading that first as this picks up where that part left off. I intend to do more of an original storyline in this part as the last part was tying up loose ends from Season 3 and setting up some stuff for this part. Word of warning, this story is going to have a lot more violence, sex, and adult content in it, so if that isn’t your thing, I’m sorry.

 

In the deepest pit of hell, along the edge of one of many lava lakes, there is a room. The room itself is large and dark. Here, even the slightest movement echoes and everything is silent except for the sounds of distant screams that crawl from beneath the door to the outside.

In the center of the room - locked in a small cage - sits the empty body of Ezria. He lays against the side of the cage, pale and blue with his knees folded into his chest as there is little room to move or stretch inside. He is still breathing, but it is faint and low. The body is there, but there is nothing behind his eyes. It is the benefit of immortality, even soulless he cannot die.

Suddenly, the room grows so cold that the faintness of his breath is visible. Ezria inhales deeply, and his eyes flip from a sickly grey to a light brown as his soul returns to his body and he sits up, smashing his head against the top of the cage. He hits it so hard his bone _cracks_ against the iron bars and sends a clang that echoes throughout the room.

“Ow, hellfire!” he says, raising what little of his hand he can to reach his head. His forehead starts to bleed, but only for a moment as the blood slowly stops dripping, and the wound mends like nothing ever happened.

He tries to adjust himself in the cage and sighs, forgetting there is little room for comfort here. His head tilts forward, and he pulls his knees further into his chest to wiggle his toes. He had forgotten how confining his cage was.

He looks up and stares out into a large and dark empty room, his eyes permanently adjusted to view everything in the dark. He can see his cage still sits in the center of the room, above a large grate that leads to pure darkness. Even with eyes permanently adjusted to the dark, he can’t see past it. Chains hang loosely above him, and he can see the blinding glow of light just beyond the door.

He sits there for a moment and sighs, wondering if Samael would keep his end of the bargain. Samael had never failed a promise before, but it had been so long since he had last spoken with his brother; Samael could have changed. He certainly knows he has.

Ezria waits patiently, his mind going back to his brief moments on the earthly plane. There, every human was so free and careless.

Here he was, a member of God’s family, curled up in a small cage at the bottom of hell. He had believed Samael when he said that he didn’t know, but Father - the all-knowing and all-powerful heart of the universe – had let him _rot_ in this cell for an eternity without so much as a note to clear his name. Anger bubbles inside him and his eyes – once a light brown – begin to darken with a deep black hatred.

This is the darkness inside him that allowed him – an angel - to escape his shell and walk among the earth. There is something wicked there, but it is unclear whether it had developed before or after his confinement.

Suddenly, the door that had been opened only twice in a millennia creaks and groans open. The room floods with an obscene amount of light and Ezria closes his eyes; shielding them the best he can. Even with his eyes closed, the light is overpowering. He opens his eyes, trying to get a glance.

“Who is there?” he says out loud as his eyes try hard to acclimate.

They burn and blind themselves, but slowly heal over as he sees the blurry edge of a figure standing just within the doorway of the room. Behind him, a bright and pure orange glow.

“Samael, is that you?” he asks, his vision becoming more and more clear until he can barely make out facial features.

The man approaches his cage, and he hears a rattling of chains followed by the sound of his cage opening.

“Brother,” Lucifer says, “Come stand by my side.”

Ezria smiles, a tear coming to his eye.

“You didn’t forget me,” he says as he climbs his long body out of the tiny cage. First come his legs, that crack and pop as they elongate for the first time in an eternity. He sets his feet firmly on the ground then pushes up on his heels. His torso straightens out, and each vertebra snaps like branches in the woods at night.

The pain should be excruciating, but Ezria almost finds it pleasurable. His muscles, so used to being hunched over and in one place, stretch and tear before immediately healing themselves.

He raises his arms out, extending them above his head as he lets out a long and pleasurable sigh. His eyes are fully adjusted now, and he turns to see Lucifer standing in front of him with a smile on his face.

“You have no idea how good that feels,” he says. Standing next to Lucifer, it is clear that they are twins. Ezria - thin, frail and pale - looks like the before shot standing next to Lucifer.

Lucifer places a hand on Ezria's shoulder, “I made you a promise, brother and I intend to keep it.”

He smiles and begins to step towards the door before pausing and turning back to his cage. He looks at it as if this were all a dream. It had been his world for so long. He turns back to Lucifer.

“I can’t believe it is finally over,” he says. Lucifer closes his eyes, still ashamed he had let his brother waste away inside that small cage for a millennium. So, convinced he had been that his brother was a monster. Doctor Linda would tell him he was projecting.

Lucifer turns to the cage, and his eyes light ablaze with a warm red fire. The bars of the cage begins to crawl with a liquid heat, seemingly originating from inside of them. The fire is so hot that it disintegrates the iron bars into embers that scatter and cool to ash.

Lucifer turns back to Ezria with a smile.

“Come,” Lucifer says again, “let me show you what I’ve made.”

He places a hand on Ezria’s shoulder and turns him to the door, gently walking him forward and not allowing him to look back.

When they emerge from the doorway, they stand on a rocky ledge at the very bottom of a giant caldera. Below them, along the edges of this rock pathway and very close to their feet, lays a giant lake of lava. In its center, jutting out a few feet from the lava is a single platform on which lies a small, doorless box. If Ezria didn’t know any better, he would think that was a cage as well, but perhaps for someone far less worthy of a door.

The heat rises off the lake and dances upwards. It creates lava bubbles that grow, encrust over, then pop before sinking back into the pool to start again. Immediately, the fine hairs on Ezria’s flesh burn and fall off his body. Ezria raises his eyes to follow alongside the walls of this crater and finds a winding path leading to a giant cavern just beyond the edge of this pit.

Lucifer smiles and begins to walk up the winding edge.

“Why don’t we just use our wings?” Ezria says, eager to stretch them as it has been a millennium. He immediately spreads them, popping them out to their glorious full span. His wings are _pure_ black. It feels incredible, and he tilts his head back and emits a sigh of pleasure. Lucifer looks at him oddly. His eyes drift over his wings as if he hadn't seen them before.

“I wouldn’t recommend that,” he says.

Suddenly, an ember of fire pops from the nearby lava bubble and lands on one of Ezria’s feathers, lighting a small fire.

Ezria turns to it quickly and begins to slap it, “No! Ow! Shit!,” he says.

Lucifer laughs. Ezria collapses his wings and hurries up the pathway.

“Yeah, you only make that mistake once,” Lucifer says as they begin to walk this winding pathway that encircles the caldera like a corkscrew.

“When we get farther away from the lake, we can use our wings,” he says, assuring him there will be much time to fly. As they walk, they pass several locked doors, and each one emits a different – yet similar – moan of pain.

“Who of the fallen are these?” Ezria asks.

Lucifer pauses and turns to Ezria. He looks over him for a moment then sighs.

“They are not our siblings, brother. They are humans. Awful ones. Ones who feel no guilt for the things they’ve done and therefore do not get to punish themselves.”

Ezria thinks for a moment, then his face becomes angry.

“You locked me up with humans?!”

Lucifer sighs.

“I understand your anger, and if you’d like to strike me, I will happily accept it. Perhaps not near the lake of fire, yes?”

Lucifer turns around and continues walking while Ezria begins to seethe. _He’s going to punch him so hard in the throat_.

\---

It’s early morning in Doctor Martin’s office. She sits at her desk, stirring a hot cup of tea before turning to her couch.

On her couch sits Chloe.

Leaned forward on her knees, her arms crossed in front of her, she stares out into nothingness; her mind sorting through so much information.

“And which stage would you say you are on now?” Linda asks.

Chloe turns to her, suddenly sucked back to the present.

“Acceptance, I guess,” Chloe begins to say, “but ... if I were honest I don’t know. I go back and forth. Sometimes I think … maybe I should pursue something with him. Other times I think it would be stupid. I’d just be setting myself up for … for heartbreak. _Cosmic_ heartbreak.”

She looks up to Linda, who watches her with a look of understanding. She would probably be the only one of her friends who would understand.

“I … love him, I do. I think about him all the time. I can't stop thinking about him, even now. But … ” she continues.

“You’re afraid of what it might mean to be with him,” Linda interjects.

Chloe shakes her head, “No. No, I’ve long since come to terms with that. He’s the devil. I can’t change that. I can’t change how I feel about him. I can’t change that I know God and heaven are real and that I’ve spoken to God face to face. I can’t change any of that.”

“So then what is holding you back?” Linda asks.

Chloe shakes her head and turns her eyes towards the window.

“I just …”

Should she tell her? Should she tell her that Lucifer had admitted he loved her? Should she tell Linda that she and Lucifer had sex? Would what they did even be considered sex? Should she tell her that he stopped?

“I uhm …” she says, trying to find the right words. She hadn't said it out loud since it happened. She wonders how it would make her feel to say the words.

“Take your time,” Linda says, grabbing her cup of tea and bringing it with her to sit opposite of Chloe.

“I mean, not _too_ much time, I do have an appointment in half an hour.”

Chloe turns to her and smiles. Linda was her friend, but she had also been with Lucifer.

“If I tell you something, can you not … tell anyone else? Like, Maze or Ella or ... anyone?”

Linda looks at her oddly.

“Chloe, I’m a professional. What is said here is between you and me. Consider me like Vegas. What happens here, stays here,” she says with a smile.

“I mean, as my friend, not as a therapist.”

Linda laughs at herself then pauses and sighs.

“Chloe … I would never tell anyone anything that you didn’t want to share. Your friendship matters to me. _You_ matter to m-“

“I had sex with Lucifer," she blurts out. If she held out any longer, if she thought about it any more, she'd clam up.

Linda pauses, her eyebrows raised as she tries to process what she just heard. She blinks, her mind reeling with so many questions. How? Why? When? Where? For starters.

“At least… I think it was sex, I’m not sur-“

“Stop talking,” Linda says, holding her hand out, trying to grasp the gravity of what she just said.; still trying to process the last bit of information before anything new is introduced.

Had anyone else told her that she wouldn’t have batted a single eye. It would have been a run of the mill behavior. But Chloe? Chloe and Lucifer? That was a big deal.

“I …” Linda starts to say, her brain still trying to form words, “I … honestly don’t know what to say to that.”

Chloe nods, sighs and sits back, “Yeah … I don’t know either. He wants to talk about it, but … I don’t know what there would be to talk about? Or rather, I don’t know what I would say.”

“Okay,” Linda says, “ I don't want to be the bearer of bad news but ... is it possible you are confusing your obvious sexual attraction to Lucifer as ...love?

Chloe shakes her head, "No, I ... wait, _obvious_?"

Linda laughs and her professional bravado drops for a moment, "Honey, the tension between you two could be cut with a knife."

Chloe shakes her head, "No, it's not like that. It's more than that."

Linda sighs, "Chloe ... I hate to say it, but ... Lucifer isn't the loving type. He's cut off from that. I don't know how or when but ... I've tried to get him to open up about those topics before, and all I get is the run-around. If you pursue something with him, you're going to be disappointed when he can't love you back."

She shakes her head, "No, this is different. He already admitted to me how he feels."

Linda looks at her, her eyes squint.

"He what?" she asks.

"He ... he told me he loved me," Chloe says.

Linda inhales deeply and holds her arms out like she is ready to catch herself if she falls. She slowly stands up, carefully, and grabs her side.

"Oh ... Oh god," she says to herself.

Chloe shakes her head, "Wha, are you okay?" she says, standing up.

Linda holds her hand out, asking for a moment as she paces around her office, making strange noises as if she is going to vomit. She shakes her hands, numbness in her fingers suddenly appearing. _Is she having a heart attack?_

Chloe watches her, not sure if this is a good thing or -

"He ... he said that to you?" Linda says, wanting to clarify things.

Chloe nods, "Yes."

"Those exact words? He said he _loved_ you?"

"Yes," Chloe says.

Linda nods and carefully comes to sit back down in her chair as if walking on thin ice. She reaches out, with shaky fingers and pulls her teacup to her face to take a sip. She sets it back down.

Chloe sits back down in her seat.

"Okay," Linda says out loud, "Okay ... okay, okay."

Chloe squints her eyes.

"Is there a problem? Is that bad?" Chloe asks.

Linda shakes her head, "Nope ...nope. Totally fine. Totally ... not a big deal. Run of the mill ... standard, holy fuck. He really said that?"

Chloe looks at her oddly. This is supposed to make her feel better?

"Right," Linda says, seeing the way Chloe is looking at her, "Right... uhm. Right, where were we?"

"We had sex," Chloe says as a matter of fact.

"Right, sex," Linda says flatly, that not being as big of a deal anymore, "tell me ... tell me more about that."

Chloe sits back and crosses her legs. She looks down as she fiddles with her hands in her lap.

“I uhm …,” she begins, “It was the day after my possession and I had just come back from heaven. I didn’t feel like myself. I felt just this sense of … I don’t know. I felt like everything was … pointless. I felt numb.”

Linda nods, “That’s called shock,” Linda says.

Much like what she is in right now. He had actually admitted he loved Chloe? Months of therapy trying to get him to that conclusion and he just ... blurts it out? then doesn't tell her about it?

Chloe nods, “Lucifer made me feel ... whole. He made me feel safe, and he made sense when nothing else did.”

Linda inhales and nods, suddenly back in psychologist mode as she remembered why Chloe was here.

“So, you used sex as a coping mechanism,” she says.

Chloe looks at her, that thought hadn’t dawned on her at all.

She knits her brow, “I guess … I guess I did.”

“That’s totally normal," Linda says, "People find different ways to cope with something traumatic. Some seek out certain … behaviors like gambling, drinking … sex.”

Chloe nods.

“But why did it have to be with him?” she asks, “I … I don’t think we were ready for that yet.”

Linda nods and shrugs, “you said it yourself. He made you feel like you.”

“Hmm,” Chloe says, her mind lost in thought again.

“So … how was it?” Linda asks with a smile on her face.

Chloe chuckles and brushes a loose strand of hair past her face.

“It was ….,” she begins, thinking back to that moment.

She had thought about it several times over the past few days. The scent of his warm cologne and the feeling of his body pressed up against hers. She had thought sex with Lucifer would be purely physical, but there was so much more there.

“It was passionate,” she begins, “it felt … right. Even for the short time we spent there, it felt like ... it felt like home. He felt safe, _I_ felt safe.”

She says looking up at Linda. Linda just stares at her, her mouth agape.

“Does that sound weird?” she asks, looking at the look on Linda’s face.

 _Brief?_ Linda thinks. _Sex with Lucifer was everything but short._

Linda raises her eyebrows, “Huh,” she says a curious tone to her voice.

Chloe shakes her head, trying to move the subject past the details.

“We haven’t really spoken about it. You know he left so soon after and I know he’ll probably want to talk about it when he returns but I just … I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what to feel.”

She looks back to Linda, who still looks at her, a curious and intrigued look to her face.

“Linda?” she asks. Linda doesn’t respond; she just stares forward as if seeing something she hadn’t thought she’d ever see.

“Linda!” Chloe says, reaching forward and waving her hand in front of her.

Linda snaps out of it.

“Sorry, Sorry I ….” she pauses and reaches down to drink a few sips of her tea.

“Did any of that make sense or am I just … am I crazy?”

Linda smiles and sets the cup down.

“No, Chloe, you’re not crazy. In fact, I think you might be exactly what Lucifer needs.”

She shakes her head.

“I want to be, but …”

“But what?” Linda asks.

“I just don’t want to be another one of his girls. You know? I want to be more than just the next notch on his bedpost. I don't want to feel ... used.”

Linda nods, “You know … I was one of _those_ girls.”

Chloe realizes what she says and uncrosses her legs to sit up.

“Oh, no! No, Linda, I didn’t mean it like that,” she says.

Linda holds out her hand, “It’s okay,” she says, “I just … I want to remind you because as ‘one of those girls’ I can tell you I never felt used. It was actually the opposite. I stopped because I realized I was the one using him.

Chloe shakes her head, and slouches “What?”

“Sex with Lucifer is great, but … it’s entirely removed from feeling or emotion or ... love.”

Chloe shakes her head, “That’s … that’s not what I felt.”

Linda nods, “and that’s my point.”

Chloe leans forward on her knees and fiddle with her thumbs.

“Did he … Did he ever tell you he loved you?” she asks, as her eyes drift up for an answer.

Linda laughs, “Oh, God no. Sex was just that. It was impersonal and just physical. It was like doing the dishes or taking out the trash. There was a detachment there that was nice for what I needed at that time, but … I began to feel like it wasn’t what he needed, and I'm ashamed to say I never even asked.”

Chloe sits back and thinks. _Had he ever told anyone he loved them?_

She remembers that long line of women coming into the station. She remembers how disgusted she was with him that he had been with so many people in such a short span of time. She remembers thinking that touching him would be akin to touching a petri dish already filled with every imaginable disease on earth.

She remembers then, how bad she felt for him that none of them thought it meant anything. None of them pined after him like she thought they should; as she had been for the past week. None of them wanted him for anything more than sex.

And that look in his eyes, when he realized he meant nothing to them … it was the first moment she saw the real him; the first time she felt that pang in her chest that told her she was going to be in trouble.

Maybe they were using him. Maybe they were chasing the legend of Lucifer Morningstar without caring about the _actual_ Lucifer Morningstar.

Chloe knits her brow.

“When I first met him, he was, just a complete asshole. You remember, you were there," Linda says.

Chloe nods and smiles, “I was … you demonstrated your yoga skills.”

Linda laughs, a pink hue coming to her cheeks, “Oh, don’t remind me. That was embarrassing, but I couldn’t help myself. He was so… charming.”

“I thought he was an asshole?” Chloe says.

“Oh, he was both.” She says, laughing.

Chloe chuckles and sits back.

“The charming part is what got him in bed with me, but the asshole part is what made it easier to keep him there. I never had to worry about feelings with him, and the truth is I didn’t care about him enough to care about his feelings. I just wanted one thing, and he was willingly offering it to me. But … then I started to learn about him through our sessions and it just … it started to feel wrong; like I was doing more damage than good.”

Linda drops her eyes to the tea on the coffee table. It is clear she isn’t proud of that. She turns back to Chloe.

“Lucifer …,” Linda says, pausing briefly as she tries to think about how much she can say without betraying Lucifer's confidence,” Lucifer is … a millennium of hurt. He has habits that are going to be very hard to break because of how wide and how deep they run. I don’t think that I can help him with those …but, maybe you could.”

Chloe shakes her head, “I’m not a doctor.”

“He doesn’t need a doctor,” Linda says," he needs someone willing to ask him the right questions. Someone he can't run from."

Chloe looks up at her cautiously.

“So what are you saying I should do?”

Linda smiles.

“Listen to your heart. Don’t worry about everything else that will sort itself out in time.”

Chloe nods.

“And I say that as a friend, not as a therapist,” she says, to clarify, “because as your therapist I’d say take it slow. Talk to him. Treat him just like any other man.”

Chloe nods and sighs.

“Relationships don’t get any easier to they?” she says with a small smile.

Linda shakes her head, “Not when you’re trying to date the devil. Speaking of which, Lucifer hasn’t seen me in quite some time. I keep calling him but …”

Chloe nods, “I’m sure when he gets back from his hell, he’ll come and see you.”

She nods, “I hope so.”

\--

God stands on his landing pad, staring out towards the stars. His eyes stare outward as if looking at nothing, but it is clear he sees everything.

They bat back and forth as if watching a tennis match, an intrigued look within his eyes. Behind him, Amenadiel lands softly before folding his wings.

God turns his eyes to his side as if acknowledging a presence behind him, before slowly turning to Amenadiel. He has a soft and loving smile on his face.

“Amenadiel,” he says, “How lovely it is to see you return to the Silver City, and on such short notice.”

Amenadiel smiles and approaches God, his hands at his side.

“Of course, Father. I would never ignore your call.”

He smiles and nods before turning back to the stars.

“I suppose you have many questions about Samael,” he says, cutting to the point as if he had something else to attend to.

“Yes,” Amenadiel says, noticing the hurried tone in which the conversation is sped up. Usually, with father, it takes a while to approach the answer, but it seems today he is eager to end the conversation.

“I assure you it is not because I am so willing to dismiss you,” he says, turning briefly to Amenadiel having read his thoughts.

“There is simply something interesting happening, and I’d like to watch.”

“What is it, Father. If I may ask?”

He smiles and turns to Amenadiel.

“It seems Samael has finally freed Ezria from his bondage. It is fascinating what an eternity of imprisonment looks like.”

Amenadiel raises his eyebrows. He wants to ask God about Ezria’s task, but even that he doesn’t know how to approach. Perhaps that is a question best saved for later. Right now, he is worried about Lucifer.

“Right,” he says, “Well I-“

“You’re curious about Samael’s future,” he says bluntly.

“Yes, you mentioned something about him no longer being an Angel? It was my understanding that even our fallen brothers and sisters are still our brothers and sisters. He may be spending more time than usual with mortals but … he will always be an Angel, right?”

God hums and looks down as if investigating the deepest recesses of his mind.

“Samael is and will be a lot of things to a lot of people,” he says, “and an Angel will always be one of them. But there will come a time, very soon, when all of that will change.”

Amenadiel shakes his head and steps forward more, “But how? Is that bad? Is that what starts the final war? What will happen to mortals? To Humans?”

“To Linda?” God asks.

Amenadiel pauses. _Of course, he knows about that._ God smiles and chuckles to himself. It is supposed to put Amenadiel at ease, but it doesn’t.

“I too was in was love with a woman,” he says, his eyes turning to Amenadiel.

“Mom,” Amenadiel says lovingly.

God nods, “I do know what is like to feel, to love. To have every desire and want, connected to making someone you love so dearly, happy.”

God sighs then turns back to the stars, “but love gets in the way. It makes you do things you shouldn’t. It makes you destroy entire villages with plagues and tempt fathers to kill their sons. It can be beautiful, but it can also be blinding,” he says.

“Is that why you put Mom in hell?” Amenadiel asks.

God nods, “Sometimes love makes us do crazy things. The hardest choice I ever had to make was between my family - my creations - and my wife.”

Amenadiel looks at him oddly. There was a coldness and a calculation there, but behind it an inherent sadness he had never seen.

“You’ve met your mother,” he says, “you know she can be … passionate. The fire in her is what sparked the existence of everything we know, but it was also what threatened to end it all.”

Amenadiel nods. God sighs and closes his eyes again. When he opens them, the galaxy still swirls behind them, but somewhere deep down there is an air of unresolved hurt.

“Is that what will make Samael change?” Amenadiel asks, “Love?”

God’s lowers his eyes then turns to Amenadiel. He looks at him then smiles before turning back to the stars. An impossible wind crosses him and shakes the thin filaments of his hair. He leans into it amorously, as if it carries a message for him.

His eyes start to glow gold, as he stares outward, looking into the future of every inch of the universe.

“What will be has already begun,” he says, “Samael will be cleansed in body and soul, he will surrender completely, and make the ultimate sacrifice. Then …,”

God turns to him, the gold in his eyes fading back to a swirling galaxy.

“He will be lost forever.”

Amenadiel shakes his head and steps forward, “What does that mean??”

God turns to him, “It means he will no longer have a place anywhere. In heaven or hell.”

“But,” Amenadiel says, “this is his home.”

God shakes his head, “Samael’s home is entirely somewhere else now.”

Amenadiel turns his eyes away and thinks. Lucifer wouldn’t care to reclaim a lost spot in the Silver City. He hated it up here. In fact, losing any claim on a position by Father’s side would make him happy. Yet Father said he would change his mind. If he can’t get into heaven or hell, why even –

His eyes widen as he puts two and two together. _Would Chloe make him fight the army of heaven?_ Amenadiel turns to his father.

“Tell me what I must do to stop this,” Amenadiel says.

God turns to him, a curious look in his eyes. He wants to tell him he cannot, but Amenadiel has always been determined.

“After all Samael has done to you, you still wish to prevent him from losing his spot among us?”

“You don’t?” Amenadiel replies.

God knits his eyebrows, there is an anger there from Amenadiel’s presumption about the nature of his love for his family.

“I only provide the path,” he says, “Samael must do the rest.”

“So, what must I do, Father? What would you have me do?” he asks, eager for a task.

God smiles to himself as if proud.

God turns back to the galaxy and crosses his hands behind him. He inhales deeply and looks out back into the stars, turning his attention back to what he had initially caught his attention.

“Do what your nature says you must, Amenadiel,” he says.

\--

A right hook lands onto the face of a shirtless Lucifer who bleeds momentarily before the small incision on his cheek closes and heels.

“Oh, come on. Harder Ezria,” he says, “I locked you in a cage!”

Ezria lands another right hook that dislocates Lucifer’s jaw and breaks Ezria’s fist. Lucifer brings a hand up to his jaw momentarily before popping it back into place and turning to Ezria.

“Okay, that was a good one,” he says as it finishes healing, “one more for good measure, yeah?”

Ezria screams and grabs Lucifer’s shoulder. He slams his head into Lucifer’s head so hard they both fall on the ground, unconscious and with giant fissures on the front of their skull. They lay there momentarily still before the fissures heal and they both sit up as if casually nursing a hangover.

Lucifer sits up and turns his head to Ezria who lays there, breathing heavily. Lucifer pats him on the abdomen twice before leaning on his knees and standing up.

“You got it out of your system now?” he asks.

Ezria sits up and nods, looking around the room for the first time.

They are inside a giant room that mimics the observatory in the silver city. However, instead of a balcony that stares out into the endless stars, its stares out into row upon row of cells, stacked together like Tupperware beneath a grey sky. Here, infinite ash falls and peppers every inch of the ground for as far as the eye can see and beyond.

Ezria looks down, his white robes now stained with blood. He looks at Lucifer, a rage dissipating within him as the black in his eyes dissolve into light brown. He leans up on his knees and stands.

Lucifer wiggles his jaw a bit to make sure it’s sitting right before pulling a towel off a nearby table on which a bowl of cold water sits. He wipes the remains of blood off his chest and tosses the towel to Ezria.

“I am truly sorry,” Ezria says, “for what I did to that human woman.”

“Chloe,” he says, correcting him, “her name is Chloe.”

He nods and begins to wipe his hands with the towel.

“I was just … so angry. I blamed you and only you for my situation, and when I saw an opportunity to enact even a small amount of hurt on you, I took it.”

Lucifer looks at him and nods.

“Despite being locked away so long, I suppose I … didn’t really process my emotions the best way,” Ezria says.

“Yes, well, let’s not focus on the past, hmm?” Lucifer says, “we’ve made our peace with that now. Let us focus on the future.”

“Yes,” Ezria says, “what shall I do first?”

Lucifer approaches his brother. He looks him up and down before saying, “Well, I have standards to uphold so … what say we find you some new clothes hmm? You still look like a fallen angel.”

“Well I am,” Ezria says.

Lucifer shakes his head, “No, you’re a lord of hell now, Ezria.”

“Well, can we save the new clothing for after I fight Abel? I wouldn’t want blood getting on those. Unless … tell me, do we have maidens down here to launder our robes?”

Lucifer inhales, suddenly aware he has bad news to share.

“Ezria … Abel is not in hell.”

Ezria shakes his head, confused.

“What do you mean? I thought you would punish him?”

“Oh, I did, but I did not send him back here, not to the cells in the pit.”

“What did you do to him?”

Lucifer sighs. Everyone he told didn’t believe him. What was the point of explaining anymore?

“I … split and scattered his soul across the universe,” he says frankly, prepared to get into a discussion about how it was he did what he did.

Ezria looks at him blankly, a look in his eyes that is hard to read. He turns his eyes, deep in thought as Lucifer looks on wondering why Ezria hasn’t informed him he was incorrect.

Suddenly a smile comes to Ezria’s face, “Is that so?” he asks.

Lucifer nods.

“For an angel – fallen or not – that should be impossible,” he says, “but I know you to not mince words when it comes to punishment. If you were able to do that, you might be able to break the barrier.”

Lucifer shakes his head, “the barrier?”

“Yes, the barrier that prevents us from returning home. You might be able to break through to the Silver City and if that is the case … I can finally go home.”

Lucifer scoffs, “Brother, trust me. You do not want to go back there,” he says, turning around to pick his shirt off of a nearby lounge chair.

Ezria shakes his head, “I am an angel!” he says, “and I did _nothing_ wrong. I did as I was commanded, and for that, I was relegated to hell for an eternity.”

“Your task is to lead hell with me Ezria. You weren’t placed here as a punishment; you were given an assignment.”

Ezria shakes his head, “It was never my task brother, only yours. You know what my task was. And I will not pick up your slack while you enjoy earthly pleasures. Not when we stand a chance to take our rightful place in the Silver City.”

Lucifer’s eyes begin to glow red, and he turns to Ezria; his jaws clenched. There is an eerie calmness in his voice, one that forces Ezria to take pause.

“I don’t think you understand, brother,” he says, taking the time to button his shirt, “I will not put you back in that cage because you do not belong there, but our time in the Silver City has long gone.”

Lucifer’s eyes squint as he speaks. He doesn’t understand why Ezria would ever want to go back.

“We were cast down as pariah’s, and I will not watch you clamor for a seat at a table where you are not welcomed. Where _we_ are not welcomed.”

“This isn’t about what they want,” Ezria, “this is about what is rightfully ours!”

Lucifer laughs to himself and shakes his head.

“I understand you haven’t had much time to think about the freedom we have been given. And that is my fault, and I have accepted that. I will regret that for eternity,” Lucifer says, “but I know time will change your mind as it has mine.”

“And when it doesn't?” Ezria asks.

Lucifer thinks about it for a moment then sighs.

“Then as long as you can promise me not a single drop of human blood will be shed, I will not stop you. I will not stand in your way. But I will not join you on your crusade, and you will not use my army for this fool’s errand.”

Lucifer can see the anger bubbling up in Ezria’s eyes as they slowly darken. Suddenly, though, the anger dissipates, and Ezria sighs. He knows he cannot yet win. Not without an army. Not without demons knowing who he is or what his goal is. Not without Lucifer’s support.

“Fine,” he says, “I will not speak of it any further.”

“Good,” Lucifer says, tossing his jacket on, “Because there is much life to be had here if you will allow it.”

Lucifer turns to leave this room through a doorway, and Ezria looks on. His mind racing about how he will convince Lucifer to take on the Silver City with him.

\--

A large and opulent yet ash covered tower – in which the room with the balcony resides - protrudes phallically from the center of the stacked cells of the damned. At its base sits rows and rows of small homes and encampments where fires burn and meat – that looks an awful lot like human body parts – roasts on a spitfire.

An older demon with a scar across his right eye sits at the fire, turning the meat, so it doesn’t burn.

Through a small alley between buildings, Maze appears and looks around before landing her sight on a doorway just to his right. She looks determined; her face already bloodied and part of her shirt slashed.

She approaches the door, and the older demon stands up to block her way.

“Now wait just a second there,” he says, “we ain’t expecting any more players.”

“I’m counting on it,” she says annoyed as she begins to walk around him. He puts his hand out and stops her. She looks down at his hand, then back up to him as if to suggest he has seriously fucked up.

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear,” he says, his eyes roaming over every inch of her “you want in? You gotta make it through me first.”

A smile comes to her face, and she tilts her head, “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

\--

Inside, five demons stand in a circle. In their center, a human with a bloody and swollen eye sits tied to a chair. He looks completely miserable yet still struggles as he tries to get out of his bonds. Below him, his chair sits on a large spinning wheel.

“Please,” he pleads, “Just put me back in my cell. I’d rather go back to my cell.”

“Oh, you’ll go back,” one demon says, “but only after we’re done.”

A demon carrying a clipboard, steps into the circle.

“Alright,” he says, producing a pen from his dingy white shirt, “remember, arms and legs are two points, the torso is five, genitals are three and gut is a redo. You land a killing blow, you gotta go retrieve him from his cell again. All bets in?”

One demon nods and raises his blade while another demon grabs the chair and spins it with all his might, sending the man revolving obscenely fast in the chair. The demon with the blade watches carefully, his eyes bouncing back and forth wildly. Suddenly, he _spikes_ the knife into the spinning mass, eliciting a loud scream of pain from the man.

A demon reaches out and stops the chair to see the knife embedded deeply into the man’s shoulder blade. He cries as blood drips down his back.

“Dammit,” the demon says.

“That’s another two points for Tee,” says the demon with the clipboard as he scribbles with his pen.

Tee reaches forward and plucks the knife out of the man’s shoulder blade, eliciting another scream from him.

“Two out of three?” Tee asks, wiping the blood from the blade on his shirt.

Just then, the door behind him _bursts_ open and the older demon from outside slides across the floor. He stops right below them, his face completely bloodied. They turn to see Maze walking through the doorway.

“Which one of you jackasses is Alamear?” she asks.

They all turn to her and smile. Tee lowers his hand and looks her up and down.

“Mazikeen,” he says, eyeing every inch of her body “What a sight you are. I can see why Hazael decided to deflower you.”

Mazikeen squints her eyes, “Keep talking. I’d hate to take pity on you.”

He laughs, as do the men behind him.

“Listen, we’ve all gotten word of your … activities on earth. Spending time with humans? Befriending them? Protecting them? If you think any of us here are afraid of you anymore,” he says, turning to the men behind him while waving his knife, “I’m happy to break the news – we aren’t.”

She stables herself on her feet and makes sure she has a sturdy grip on her knife.

“You don’t deserve the honor of being Lucifer’s sentinel,” one demon says from the back.

“I know more about what Lucifer needs than any of you,” she says, raising her knife, “Now where is Alamear?”

A tall, sturdy man that has been sitting in the corner this entire time, quietly sharpening the edge of a double-bladed axe inscribed in their native language, stands up.

Maze turns her eyes to him and smiles.

“Finally,” she says, exasperated.

“The thing is,” Tee says as Maze turns back to him, “You abandoned your post. Which means … there’s an open position at Lucifer’s side.”

“And you think you can fill it? Lucifer would never have a low-level demon like you by his side,” she says.

He turns back to his demon friends then turns back around as his eyes go completely black.

“Maybe he will feel differently when I bring him your head.”

Just then she turns to see three other demons walk to block the doorway behind her. She turns to see Tee smiling from ear to ear.

Maze sighs and looks at the man tied to the chair. She thinks for a moment then laughs to herself as she realizes that she _really fucking hates_ demons.

“Huh... I get it now,” she says, pausing at her revelation.

She scoffs, “I can’t believe I used to be just like you. I mean, you spend all your days torturing tied up humans who have been here for millennia and in large part have lost their will to live, yet still, you think you are the shit.”

She squints her eyes, “You ever hunt a live one? Hmm? For four days through the woods? In nothing but leather pants and a bra with underwire? Then carry him, struggling through his binds for another four days, and your only reward is money?”

They have a look of disgust on their faces.

“You don’t even get to kill them?” Tee says, “Wow, you’ve really lost your touch.”

They look at her like she’s crazy, they have no idea what any of those words mean. She chuckles to herself.

“Yeah, you would think so,” she says as she _spikes_ a knife directly towards Tee. It spins in the air and lands straight into his skull; digging itself about five inches into his head. He slowly turns his eyes upward to look at the blade as the engraved edges of the blade begin to glow with a hot heat; as if lava were being gently poured into its grooves.

He goes to pull it out, but it burns his hands and stings him. He instantly moves his hand away, the blade’s handle design permanently scorched onto his hand.

“Oh, fuck me,” he says as a fire crawls throughout his body and he bursts into a thousand embers. The knife drops to the floor with a loud clang.

The other demons look down at the steaming blade then look up at Maze who somehow has produced five more knives. She holds them delicately in her hands. She smiles a wicked smile. It has been so long since she’s used them appropriately.

 


	2. Good News Gang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer and Ezria hash things out in hell, Maze and Lucifer celebrate with wine, and an orgy then head back to earth. Chloe gets good news, and Amenadiel tries to figure out what his father meant.

Lucifer and Ezria slowly walk up a spiral staircase that leads to the room with the observatory. Ezria, dressed in one of Lucifer’s suits, looks uncannily like him. If he weren’t considerably thinner and paler, they would look almost identical.

“So what did you do in response? Ezria asks, wildly intrigued by Lucifer’s story.

Lucifer smiles, “I gave her what she desired, obviously. And in return, she owed me a favor. See, the favors pay themselves off eventually if you know how to manage them.”

“And you don’t worry about the consequences?” Ezria asks.

Lucifer frowns, “brother, I am not responsible for their actions, just their desires. If they desire money or fame or love, I provide it to them. What they do with it is entirely up to them.”

Ezria nods.

“Still, they find a way to blame you,” Ezria says.

  
Lucifer frowns, “That's enough about me," he says, "Let’s discuss your new role."

Lucifer approaches and swings open the set of double doors that open to the observatory. There, standing in its center, is a bloodied Maze. She perches over the badly beaten body of Alamear; her foot poised on the crook of his head.

Lucifer looks at her curiously while a look of shock covers the entirety of Ezria’s face.

She looks _absolutely_ _pissed._

“You know, I thought coming back here would be a great break from all the touchy-feely human things, but … all of these guys are _fucking_ assholes,” she says.

She takes her foot off of Alamear’s head, and he turns; groaning as every bone in his body aches.

“Is this him?” Lucifer says. Maze nods.

“I hope so. I only killed …, “she raises her eyes, counting in her head. It seems like an impossibly long pause.

“Like … forty-eight, maybe forty-nine. You know what, let’s call it an even 50 demons to get to this guy. So, I hope this is him because I’m going to be honest, and I never thought I’d say this but ... I _hate_ it here.”

“So, this is the demon who let you out?” Lucifer says before turning to Ezria for confirmation.

Ezria nods, “That’s him.”

“Excellent. I shall gather the legion so you may punish him,” Lucifer says.

Ezria looks at him, “What?”

“If you are to rule alongside me, you need to have the respect your station demands. Demons are -,” he begins to say.

“Assholes,” Maze says, finding a nearby chair and sitting in it.

Lucifer nods, “Yes, they will never listen to you or respect you unless you show them what happens when they falter. Demons aren’t like angels. They have no true loyalty or purpose. Their only desire is opportunity and pleasure.”

Maze pauses, “I’m … literally sitting right behind you.”

Lucifer turns to her then turns back to Ezria, “Most of them at least.”

Maze is pleased by this correction.

“You need to demand their respect to lead them in my absence,” Lucifer says.

Ezria thinks about this for a moment and frowns.

“I don’t think I can,” he says.

Lucifer smiles softly and puts a hand on his shoulder, “ Brother, you and I are cut from the same cloth. I know It is possible.”

“Sama-,” he pauses, having to correct himself again. He lowers his head.

“Lucifer … I’ve been trapped in that cage for so long, just me and my own thoughts. I don’t think I have it in me to lead anything right now. I’m still just trying to figure this all out. What it means to be fallen, to be in hell, to be … free. I am sorry brother, but this is too much to ask of me.”

Ezria raises his eyes; inside them, there is still a small child looking for the approval of someone else. Lucifer sighs and nods. He had expected too much, too soon. Before his fall, Ezria was timid. Why would he assume that would change after all this time being caged?

“You’re right,” he says, “Perhaps it is too soon to ask you to lead an army. For now, just … enjoy your freedom.”

Ezria smiles.

“Still, I need to introduce you to the legion. They must know of you if you are to lead them one day.”

Lucifer removes his hand from Ezria and walks over to the balcony. There he stares out onto endless rows of cells. He looks out until his vision is obscured by ash and fog.

His eyes light with a dull red flame, then - one by one - tiny torches that dot the center of each row light up. Slowly the vastness of this place becomes ever more apparent as torches in the distant light up and cut through the thin fog. They seem to go on for an eternity, each torch following the next. Maze slowly steps out onto the balcony and looks out to see each torch come to life.

She looks at Lucifer, a deep lust in her eyes. She turns back to the torches and nods towards them.

“This," she says, "this is so hot.”

Lucifer looks at her, a pleased look in his eyes.

Lucifer turns back to see Ezria standing over the broken body of Alamear.

“Remember, we are doing this so that the others will afford Ezria the power and authority he demands.”

“You know that isn’t the _only_ reason,” she says. He looks at her, and his eyes drop. He turns back to the crowd.

“I get it,” Maze says, her head shaking, “they are different here. I thought I could come back and everything would feel like it used to, but … it doesn’t feel the same.”

Lucifer smiles and Maze turns to him," So you're telling me I was right by not returning us earlier?"

Maze rolls her eyes at his sudden smug smile, then turns back to the gathering crowd, “I don’t think this is my home anymore,” she says, a sad look in her eyes. He turns to her and lays a hand on her shoulder.

“That doesn't have to be a bad thing.”

She nods, but somehow she still feels sad. _Why is she feeling sad?_

Lucifer turns to look below the balcony where he stands, he can already see hundreds, if not thousands of demons are gathered there; summoned by the flame.

They look up at him and are happy to see him.

“I come today to right a wrong,” he says, his voice deep and guttural.

“One of you has ventured into the pit and retrieved a soul for your own purposes.”

He turns to see Ezria standing sheepishly just beyond the view of the balcony. He turns back to the crowd.

“You have interfered with my time on earth and have gravely overstepped the boundaries you have been given.”

They had almost killed Chloe. If they hadn't let Ezria out of his cage, he wouldn't have been manipulated by Abel and Chloe wouldn't have almost died. Their disobedience had virtually cost him her life. He would not settle for it. _He had promised to protect her_. The red flame in his eyes glows to a bright blue.

The demons all gasp, having not seen this rage in a long time.

“Many of you know I have been on earth for a long time, and so I understand my absence may have given some of you the incorrect notion that you could disobey me; that I am no longer your king. I am here to assure you this is not the case.”

Maze leaves his side and goes to retrieve Alamear from the floor. She grabs him by the collar and hikes him up. It’s odd seeing this tiny woman grab such a large and imposing man by the collar, Ezria thinks. Yet, somehow, _he likes it_.

“Let us not forget," Lucifer continues, "It was I alone who slogged rock from the depths of the lake of fire when you were too weak from hunger. It was I who further scorched my skin so that you may sleep with dignity and not beneath the ash as you did before me. I will not be ignored. I _will not_ be disobeyed.”

Maze drags Alamear to the edge of the balcony and tosses his top half over the edge of the so that he is precariously leaning against the railing.

Ezria nervously approaches behind Lucifer, becoming visible to the hordes of demons below. He steps forward and looks at the crowd below who turn to each other and murmur. They’ve never seen him before, but they’ve heard of him – specifically from the demon who now hangs so precariously over the balcony.

“This,” Lucifer says, laying a hand on Ezria, “Is my brother, Ezria. He is an angel of God, and you _will_ treat him as such.”

Ezria just stands there, nervously watching.

“You only respond to violence, torture, and pain. So, let there be no confusion of what happens when my will is defied,” Lucifer finishes saying.

He turns to Maze and nods.

She reaches back and pulls out a blade tucked carefully into the waistband of her belt.

She grabs the Alamear’s shirt and pulls him closer to her.

“And this is why I am his sentinel,” she whispers to him as she curves her arm up and drives the blade deep into his chest. His eyes widen as the blade sinks into his body. Ezria looks away, not wanting to see this.

Lucifer stares out into the crowd, unmoved by the sight next to him. He would rather a demon die than Chloe. He would always choose her, even if he had to send every beast in hell to the void.

The demons below watch with delight in their eyes.

Slowly the handle of the blade fills with fire. Maze removes her hand from it, wanting not to get burned. Trails of fire crawl across Alamear’s face before every inch of his body pops into smaller embers before falling into ash. The knife drops with a clang to the floor of the balcony and Maze turns to Lucifer.

“My King,” the demons below say together, as they bow in non-unison. He looks down at hordes and hordes of demons that crouch and stand like the waves of a turbulent sea.

He stares out into the crowd, his eyes still lit with a blue flame.

“Let there be no confusion,” he says, before turning and walking off the balcony.

Maze watches as the demons look at one another, delight in their eyes.

She reaches down and picks up the still warm knife before tucking it into her waist band. She turns to see Ezria watching her with a look of pure intrigue.

“What?” she asks as she walks past him into the observatory.

Ezria turns to the crowd to see them start walking away, going back to their posts. All except for one demon, who stands just at the edge of one of the nearby rows. He stands watching Ezria, a curious look on his face. When he sees Ezria staring back at him, he walks into an alley between rows and disappears.

Ezria turns to enter the observatory and sees Lucifer taking a seat on a nearby chair. He crosses his legs and sighs.

“Well, that will satiate them for a while," he says," but who knows how long it will be until they disobey me again. As long as it doesn't threaten the detective's life, I suppose we can get away with just tossing them in the pit for a few thousand years.”

“I am sorry, brother,” Ezria says sadly, "I did not mean to force your hand."

Lucifer smiles lovingly towards Ezria, “In time brother. I will make a great Lord of you yet.”

Ezria catches eyes with Lucifer, expecting to see anger or disappointment but instead, he sees his brother. The only one of his brothers that has ever had hope in him. The only one who has ever shown an interest. Still, even now, after being locked away for so long, he was eager to please Lucifer. He scrunches his eyebrows. _Why was he so eager to please?_

“Now,” Lucifer says, “You have your freedom and can do anything you want with it. What do you desire the most?”

Ezria thinks. He had been alone with his thoughts for so long. For the first few centuries, he had thought about what he would do, who he would see. He had thought about the women he would lay with and the trips he would make to earth.

Now, all he wanted was his freedom, and he had that. _What else was there?_

Ezria shakes his head, “I don’t yet know, I’m just happy to be free.”

Lucifer nods, a frown coming over his eyes, “Well … this place is yours as much as mine. Do as your heart desires. I’ve already made arrangements to accommodate you, but it will take some time for those to be ready. So, until then you may have my room, I doubt I’ll be needing it anytime soon.”

Ezria shakes his head, “What for? You know we don’t require rest as humans do.”

Lucifer smiles, “For when you require privacy, of course."

Ezria looks confused. He's had enough privacy for a lifetime.

Lucifer smiles wider, "It isn’t for sleeping, brother.”

Ezria looks at him oddly, and then it clicks what he is saying.

“You … you have women who would lay with me?” he asks sheepishly.

Lucifer’s smile curls deeply on his lips. 

"Oh," he says, "Do we ever."

\--

Chloe sits at her desk, typing up a report on her computer. She looks up to just as the new Lieutenant walks by and enters Ella’s lab.

The new lieutenant was a woman, and despite the gender change - maybe even especially with the gender change - Chloe didn’t trust her. After the track record they’ve had for the past Lieutenants, she couldn’t shake the feeling she needed to keep an eye on this new woman.

It had nothing to do with the fact that she was Lucifer’s type, she thinks. She was tall, slender and had curves in all the right places. Her curly brunette hair landed just below her shoulders and the scent that followed her was citrusy and sweet. Sure, she was beautiful but ... that had nothing to do with why she didn't like her. _Nothing at all._

Chloe watches suspiciously as the new Lieutenant and Ella begin to speak. She sighs to herself, then goes back to her desk work. It was nothing like being on homicide.

Every day was monotonous and revolved around her typing up reports on her computer. Still, it was nice to be able to think about something other than work at work. It had given her time to think about what had happened, what might happen; to think about what _will_ happen when Lucifer returns.

When would he return? It had been a week already. She hadn’t thought she’d ever miss him, but it was apparent she had. She had thought about him every night before she fell asleep, but she knows she had built this idea of who he would be when he returned in her head.

What if her image of him wasn’t what he actually was? She had imagined him as a loving boyfriend and even a doting father. She knew he might not be either of those things, but still, her mind had ventured there, and her heart found itself stuck on that idea.

She frowns at herself, at how quickly she had managed to let Lucifer get into her mind again. If she were in middle school she’d be writing Chloe Morningstar onto notebooks. _It was so fucking stupid._

Suddenly, a squeal comes from the lab and Chloe turns to see Ella jumping around excitedly. The Lieutenant looks like she doesn’t know what to do. Chloe smiles to herself and turns her head back to her work. At least Ella was acting normal.

The thought crosses her mind she hadn’t really spoken to her about Lucifer since the whole Abel thing. She seemed to be taking it well but, what if she wasn’t? She had been so stuck in her own rut; she didn’t even look across the table to check and make sure Ella was okay. She seemed okay. It was clear that Ella wasn’t the type to hide her emotions, just Lucifer. _What was he feeling right now?_ And here she was again, thinking about him.

She sighs goes back to typing.

“Chloeeeeee,” Ella says, coming out of her lab, a smile plastered on her face.

Chloe turns to her and sees the Lieutenant following closely behind her.

Ella comes around the front of her desk and can barely contain her excitement.

“So, Lieutenant Edwards and I have spoken,” she says, looking back and forth between Chloe and the Lieutenant.

“and ….,” she says, turning to the lieutenant, “can I tell her?”

The Lieutenant smiles and nods.

“They’re putting you back on homicide!” Ella says.

Chloe’s eyes widen, and she stands up.

“Wait, really?” she says.

Ella nods, “You start back tomorrow!”

Chloe turns to the Lieutenant for confirmation and is met with a smile.

“Really?” she asks.

The lieutenant smiles and nods, “We did an internal review of your work and found that it made no sense to have you on desk duty any longer, not when cases are starting to pile up. That is if you think you’re ready.”

“Yes!” Chloe says without hesitation, “I mean … absolutely. You won’t regret this.”

“I hope not,” the Lieutenant says, smiling as she turns and heads into her office.

Ella turns to Chloe and mimics a happy scream.

“We totally have to celebrate tonight,” Ella says.

Chloe’s smile fades into a frown, “oh, you know I can’t, Ella. It’s a school night, and I have to be with Trixie.”

Ella frowns and slouches.

“Dan's not back yet, huh?” she asks.

Chloe shakes her head, “No. I tried calling him to see when he might come back but … he hasn’t been answering his phone.”

Ella sighs then slowly starts to smile.

“We could … bring the party to your place?”

Chloe shakes her head, “It’s a school night."

“Oh, come on, Chloe! I promise we’ll be gone by the time Trixie goes to bed and ... and we’ll keep it PG, okay? No drugs, no strippers, just cake, and maybe a little wine.”

Chloe pauses and seems to think it over. She had spent a whole week wallowing in self-pity and wondering about Lucifer. Maybe it would be a good thing to just … _relax_ for a night.

“I can see you are thinking about it,” Ella says.

“Fine,” Chloe says finally, “but we are done by 9:30, okay?”

Ella crosses her fingers, “Deal! I’ll call Linda.”

Ella leaves to head back to her lab, and Chloe smiles. She looks over towards the Lieutenant’s office to see her already deep into work. She sighs and thinks for a moment before slowly heading over.

Once at the door, she knocks as she enters.

“Lieutenant Edwards?”

The woman looks up and smiles.

“Detective, how can I help you?”

She enters the office cautiously, “I just … I wanted to thank you for approving me to get back on homicide. It’s been hell sitting at a desk all week.”

She smiles and leans back in her chair, “Well, I saw no reason to have you on desk duty any further. We all make poor choices in men; no need to punish you for his actions.”

Chloe smiles, “Are you sure they are okay with me going back on duty?”

The Lieutenant's smile fades and she tilts her head, "Are you sure _you_ are okay to go back on duty?"

Chloe nods, "Of course. It's just ... I will need a partner and, well ..."

The Lieutenant leans forward and sighs. She reaches for a file beneath a bunch of papers and opens it up.

"Ah yes, Mr. Morningstar," she says.

"He was, in my opinion, unjustly fired by the last Lieutenant. I was hoping that due to his ... disappearing act, there might be some review or leeway in his decisions?"

The Lieutenant nods as she looks over the file. She hums to herself and frowns.

"Normally that would be the case Detective, but ... the reasonings for letting Mr. Morningstar go are all pretty solid."

Chloe shakes her head, "I know he seems a bit unorthodox, but we have an excellent closing rate."

"Unorthodox is a _grave_  understatement, Detective. According to his file he also has broken several departmental policies, and the list of complaints about possible human rights violations are high. Quite frankly, It's a wonder he lasted this long."

Chloe crosses her arms, "He's an excellent partner. He's _my_ partner. I trust him with my life. Is there no way to get him back on as a consultant?"

The Lieutenant sighs and leans back.

"Looking at the files, I can't see how that would be the case." she says, turning her eyes towards Chloe. 

Chloe visibly slumps.

"But ... I can tell this is important to you. I know how hard it is to find a partner you click with and if I can be blunt we've been looking to put you back for a few days and no one wants to work with you."

Chloe nods, "Yeah, I'm not a fan favorite here," she says.

"Your closing rate _is_ high," the Lieutenant continues, " and the department _has_ taken a hit recently with all of the Lieutenant switches. We're down a few detectives as you know so... homicide is stacking up."

The Lieutenant let's go a heavy sigh as the wheels turn behind the her eyes. Chloe can see she is thinking and wants to say something to convince her further... she doesn't want to push it.

"I'll tell you what," the Lieutenant says, sitting forward again, "Get Mr. Morningstar to visit me. I'll see where we are at and if we can get him into a course on policy, possibly a meeting with HR and we'll see what we can do."

Chloe nods, "Yeah, Yeah, okay. I'll do that."

"Yeah?" the Lieutenant asks.

"Thanks, I'll talk to him about it."

The Lieutenant smiles and sets his file on the corner of her desk, away from other documents and papers.

“Then, I suppose that is all Detective?”

Chloe nods, “Yes, thank you.”

She leaves and the Lieutenant nods. She turns back to her paperwork and frowns. _How is she supposed to turn this station around?_

\--

Inside the shadow of the giant tower, Lucifer and Maze cross a large courtyard. Close behind them walks Ezria; his mind now focused on the idea of being touched by a woman.

So much so that he finds himself lost in thought as his eyes carefully watch as Maze walks. He thinks about how tight her leather pants are and what might be beneath them. A demon may not be worthy of many things, he thinks, but laying with him he will happily accept any day of the week.

He follows her carefully; his heart feels like it is beating out of his chest. He had thought about it so many times inside his cage. He imagined what it would be like once he is free, but he hadn’t imagined it would be so soon.

“Where are we going, brother?” Ezria asks, a nervousness in him.

They enter a building with no doors and cross directly onto the top floor of a six-story building that goes deep into the ground. A balcony from the entrance looks straight down into the heart of the building and gives a clear view of each floor brimming with pulsating flesh that falls over one another in a weird blender of sweaty bodies.

Ezria’s eyes widen. He can’t believe what he is seeing.

“I … wha …” he says, words unable to form in his mouth.

He turns as a nude demon places a hand on his shoulder. She smiles at him and rubs a hand down the lapel of his suit jacket.

“This looks as good as it feels,” she says seductively.

Another hand appears on his right shoulder, and he turns to see another naked demon. She places a hand gently around the front of his torso.

“I wonder how easy it is to take off,” she says sweetly in his ears.

Ezria’s eyes slowly move up to Lucifer, wide with fear and excitement all at the same time.

Lucifer laughs to himself, probably more excited about this than Ezria.

“Go,” he says to his brother,” Enjoy your first moments of true freedom.”

They begin to pull Ezria into a side room, and he hesitatingly follows as they coo sweet nothings into his ear. He looks back at Lucifer for a moment, before a wide smile appears on his face.

Another naked demon comes by and places her arm around Lucifer’s torso. He turns to her, and she looks up at him.

“Allow me to welcome you back properly, my King,” she says.

He smiles at her, appreciating her forwardness. His smile fades however, as he looks into her eyes and sees an emptiness. It had been appealing to him before, but now it felt unappetizing.

He frowns and peels his hand off of her, “I’m afraid there will be no time for pleasure,” he says.

She frowns and slides her arms tenderly across his torso as she wanders off, “Perhaps next time,” she says.

Lucifer turns back to the balcony, a look of confusion in his eyes. _Did he just turned down sex?_ That had only happened to him once in his entire life. It was when the Detective had come to his penthouse drunk and thrown herself at him. Yet, he didn’t feel the same rush he did then. In fact, he thinks as he looks out into the pit of squirming bodies, he feels turned off by this whole sight. Like, maybe even this was _too_ indulgent for the devil.

Maze also stares out onto the floors of sweaty bodies beneath her. She tilts her head, a look of detachment within them. She feels nothing. No disgust, no lust just … like she was watching the home shopping channel at two in the morning. Lucifer looks down into the pit and becomes visibly uncomfortable. He turns to Maze, who stares intently. He squints his eyes, unsure if she is enjoying the sight or oddly uninterested like he is.

“Did you want to join before we left?” he asks.

She looks at him then back at the pit. She thinks about it for a moment, as if testing her own arousal.

She shrugs, “Sure, why not. These guys are assholes, but I don’t need them for their company.”

She reaches down and pulls her shirt off in one swift movement before disappearing into a side room.

Lucifer smiles then sighs before turning back to look down the center of the building. He watches in silent for a moment before scrunching his brows. Even if this weren’t as enticing as it used to be, he should have developed an erection by now.

He looks down at his crotch.

_Nothing_.

“Huh,” he says to himself, looking around trying to pinpoint exactly what it is about this scene that is different.

\--

Inside a dark and quiet LUX suite, the elevator opens and Amenadiel steps into the dark penthouse. He looks around as he walks in and flips a light switch on the back wall near the elevator. It floods the penthouse's living room and only emphasizes its emptiness.

He looks around. Everything looks put together. Even in his absence, it’s clear Lucifer’s cleaning crew had been here to make sure everything was right for his return. He sighs and goes to the bar to pour himself a drink.

What would he say to Lucifer? How could be approach this situation? He and Lucifer had always been at odds. Amenadiel’s task had been to keep him in hell, but … lately, it seems like he did more good on earth.

Lately, it feels like maybe Lucifer was the only one of his brothers that would understand what it was _truly_ like to live with humans. The others all looked down on humans; he had too at some point. Yet, here he was, in a penthouse on earth, trying to figure out how to save the devil. Had he not recently spoken to Father and had his father not told him to follow his heart, he would think he was being disobedient. He shakes his head. Why couldn't father just tell him what to do? _Why did he always have to be so vague?_

He sighs. He had no idea what was he was supposed to be saving Lucifer from. Father had mentioned he would have no home in heaven or hell, and he needed to prevent that, but how? He only had an inkling it was Chloe who would start the chain reaction, but without knowing how it would start or how far along he was … it was like shooting arrows in the dark. What if it had already begun? What if Lucifer was too far gone to save? _What if Lucifer didn't want to be saved?_

He sighs a heavy sigh and takes a sip of his drink. He turns his eyes to Lucifer’s bed to see it fully made. He thinks this might be the cleanest he’s ever seen his apartment.

He squints his eyes. Father said Lucifer would be cleansed. Amenadiel knows it might not include his penthouse but … why take the chance? He downs his drink in one gulp, then sets the glass on the table, dedication in his eyes. He is going to make this penthouse feel _lived_ in.


	3. Change is going to come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel has paranormal experiences. Amenadiel makes a troubling discovery. Lucifer and Maze return, and Chloe struggles with keeping Lucifer off her mind.

 

Music loudly plays in the center of a seemingly still LUX Penthouse suite.

Suddenly, Amenadiel appears by the steps to Lucifer’s bedroom. He is half-clothed in a pair of dark dress socks, his underwear and one of Lucifer’s button-up shirts. The shirt is way too small for him to button, but he ventures forward anyway.

_Just take them old records off the shelf._

He mimes the lyrics into an almost empty bottle of bourbon.

He slowly descends the steps into the living room and approaches the coffee table covered in old take out containers. He plops down on the sofa and takes the last few sips directly from the bottle.

“I like that old-time rock and roll!” he sings loudly.

He grunts, tasting the liquor as it burns sweetly down his throat. He leans forward and sets the bottle down before taking the time to look into each container. He hums when he finally finds one that still has food in it. He sniffs it before taking a fork out of one of them and starting to eat it. He kicks his feet up on the table and crosses his legs while eating.

He nods his head to the music and looks around. The penthouse wasn’t entirely destroyed by any means, but it looked like the home of someone who lived there; maybe someone who hadn’t taken out the trash in a few days too.

He nods to himself, happy at the job he’s done. It will be impossible for Lucifer to be cleansed, in whatever way Father means, when his penthouse looks like pure debauchery.

Speaking of, he thinks as he reaches down to pull his phone off the seat next to him, LUX would open for business in an hour. He wishes he knew when Lucifer would return; he’d have two women waiting in bed for him.

He pauses.

  
 _Would Lucifer even accept them?_ He had seemed different after Chloe’s possession. It reminded Amenadiel of him and Linda. For a moment, his brain moves to her. He misses her.

Amenadiel drops the fork into the take out box and sighs.

Angels and humans aren't mean to be, and maybe that means Lucifer and Chloe as well. But ... how could he? For a moment, his Angelic nature comes out, and he wonders why he would want to mess up whatever is going on between Lucifer and Chloe. He doesn’t imagine his brother had many true lovers in hell.

He shakes his head in frustration.

How the hell is he supposed to save Lucifer if he doesn’t know how? Why did Father have to be so cryptic? Why couldn’t he just tell him what he needed to do instead of leaving him to put the pieces together?

He grabs his fork again and moves his food around; his appetite suddenly lost.

Still, he pulls the fork up to take one last bite and spills some sauce onto his chest. He puts the fork back into the container and leans forward to set the container back on the coffee table. This movement stresses what little leeway there is left in Lucifer’s shirt and he rips it.

He turns his head to it and frowns. He stands and wipes the sauce off his chest with a nearby dirty napkin before turning and ascending the steps into Lucifer’s bedroom. He then walks to enter the bathroom.

There, he flips the light switch and looks at the damage he’s done. Right in the armpit of the shirt, there is a hole. He exhales in frustration. He doubts Lucifer will be too upset about the shirt once he tells him what is going on. Should he tell him? Yes, he should tell him. He reaches forward and turns on the faucet to wash his hands.

The water hits his hands and he looks up catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

Suddenly he pauses and his eyes furrow. A strange feeling comes over him. The room vibrates around him, and he recognizes it as sensing traces of the celestial. There was always something of divine origin in Lucifer's penthouse, but this was different. _Why hadn't he felt it before?_

He slowly shuts the water off, as if waiting to hear something. As if waiting for the thought that begins to creep slowly into his mind. He hasn’t yet grasped what it is, or what It means but he feels it coming and knows it has to do with Lucifer. He slowly turns his face, as if waiting for something to happen. He replays what his father said in his head.

_Lucifer will be cleansed. Lucifer will be cleansed._

His eyes slowly turn to the shower, then to the tub next to it. He pauses and stares at the tub, his head tilted and his face blank.

_Lucifer will be cleansed. He will be lost forever._

A memory pops into his head of a week earlier, when in this very room Lucifer climbed into a bath of holy water to close the door inside of Chloe. He insisted he be the one cleanse Chloe, even if it was painful. Amenadiel let him because it was clear how he felt about her.

Suddenly, the thought in his head hits him and slowly he steps backward, leaning his weight on the counter. His eyes widen and he shakes his head. A cold chill comes over his body as he turns to the empty tub, imagining what had happened there.

_No. No._

If this was it, if Lucifer had lost his grip on the celestial ... it was his fault. It was him who had blessed the water. It was him who had stood by patiently while he anointed her. He had failed to return him to hell and to be honest, he had stopped trying.

He stands there, his eyes wide and staring at the tub. _Was it too late to save the Devil?_

The song on the speakers comes to an end, and for a moment, the penthouse briefly dips into silence. Suddenly, Sam Cooke’s “Change is gonna come” starts playing. Amenadiel turns his head towards the speaker system and narrows his eyes. He looks up towards the ceiling as if reacting to something someone did.

\--

“I’m drowning man."

 

Dan’s eyes open, and he finds himself in the center of the ocean during a storm. The waves crash over his head and send him below water as he struggles and gasps for air. A deep wind picks up, sending hard rain splashing into his open eyes, making it harder for him to catch his bearings. He blinks, trying to clear his vision.

The waves toss him at the highest point he’s ever been, and momentarily he can see the horizon. There is no land for miles, just the promise of more ocean. It is clear this will be his own watery grave.

 

“Take my hand!” he hears.

 

He turns around quickly to see a small boat about twenty feet away from him. On it, stands a suit-clad Lucifer. He leans precariously on the side of the rocking boat; one hand extended in Dan's direction.

 

“Daniel, take my hand!” he says.

 

Dan tries to swim to him, his arms flailing for safety, but with each stroke towards the boat, he only seems to get farther away; the sea becoming more violent each time.

 

“Daniel!” he hears, “Daniel you’re almost there!”

 

A wave crashes over him sending him beneath water. He instinctively closes his eyes to keep the sea water from further burning them. Once he crests above the water, gasping for air, he looks around for the boat.

 

“Daniel!” he hears. He turns to see a fire-eyed Lucifer staring back at him.

 

“Daniel take my hand!” he says.

 

All Dan can do is stare, not sure the boat is his safety anymore.

 

“Daniel!”

\--

Dan _pops_ up in bed, breathing heavy and covered in sweat. He looks around momentarily to grab his bearings. He isn’t in his apartment. Instead, he’s in what appears to be a hotel room. The room itself looks lived in like he’s been here for a while. Still, it is relatively clean, save for the small corner of the room where his suitcase lays open near a pile of dirty clothing.

The room is dark as night time has already hit. It is silent, with only the low hum of the air conditioner near the window. He catches his breath and wipes the sweat off his brow before tossing the covers off and setting his foot on the ground.

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and sighs. Despite sleeping for what appears to be all day, he’s _just so tired_. He begins to weep into his hand and for a second, thinks he hears an echo of his crying somewhere in the distance. He pauses; his sadness suddenly stopped as the hairs on his body stand at attention and fear plunges into his eyes. He sits there for a moment and listens, looking around every corner of his room.

Suddenly, the air conditioner kicks off, plunging the room into silence. He slowly turns to it, a fear crystalizing behind his eyes. The room grows ten degrees colder, cold enough that he can barely see his breath.

 

“No, no, no, no,” he whispers, a look of pure fear coming over him as his face turns a sickly white.

 

There is a loud knock at the door, and he turns to it. He watches the door, frozen in place.

 

“Who is it?” he says, the fear in his voice very apparent.

 

There is no reply, just another knock, this time more aggressive. He slowly stands up, looking around for anything to use as a weapon. They had taken his gun and taser when they made him go on leave, so now he had nothing. He looks around and sees an unused ice bucket.

He grabs it and holds it aloft, ready to strike. Slowly, he approaches the door and peers through the hole to see who is on the other side. The hallway is completely empty.

The knock happens again, as he is peering through the door, this time loudly. He can feel it shaking the wood of the door, threatening to rip it off its hinges. He backs up slightly, just enough to see the handle of the door start to slowly turn.

 

“Go away!” he screams.

 

The handle continues to turn, now in the fully unlocked position. Suddenly, the door swings open, but gets hitched on the chain. A cool breeze followed by a cacophony of whispers enters the room. Daniel turns and runs into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him and leaning his weight onto it.

 

“Go away!” he screams again, tears forming in his eyes.

 

He hears a female voice behind him, whispering to him. It sounds like she is trying to say something but the letters are jumbled. He shuts his eyes as tight as he can while the bathroom door begins to shake beneath the weight of someone trying to get in. Even through his closed eyes, he can see the bathroom lights beginning to flicker on and off.

Tears flow freely as a terror that shakes him to his core comes over him. Still, he holds on tight as if he knows it will be over soon; as if this has happened before. Suddenly the shaking stops, as do the whispers and the lights are stable again. He slowly opens his eyes and cautions a glance around to see his bathroom is empty.

He looks at himself in the mirror and is not shocked to see his hair wildly displaced and deep, dark rings around his eyes. He turns back to the bathroom door and slowly cracks it open. He peeks through the crack in the door before opening it wide and stepping out into the bedroom.

First, he turns to the door, to see the chain still on and the deadbolt suddenly still locked. Then he turns to his bedroom to see it completely ransacked. The bed is upside down, furniture is strewn about, and his suitcase of clothing is completely turned over. For a second, right behind his eyes, there is undeniable anger, but it quickly dissipates and is overridden by a bottomless sadness.

\--

Chloe sits at the edge of Trixie’s bed, wearing a pair of thin green pajamas and a lightweight beige sweater. She is gently tucking Trixie in as Bubbles lays fast asleep in his bed at the corner of Trixie’s room.

 

“Mommy? When is Daddy coming back?” Trixie asks. Chloe smiles a sad smile.

 

“Daddy was feeling stressed, remember?” she says, “He went on a vacation, and when he feels better he's going to come back.”

 

“But when?” she asks.

 

“I don’t know Monkey,” she says, brushing the hair out of Trixie’s face, “but I’m sure when he comes back, he’s going to be so happy to see you.”

 

Trixie smiles and gets more comfortable in bed. Chloe leans in and kisses her forehead.

“Goodnight Mommy,” Trixie says.

 

“Goodnight Monkey,” Chloe responds as she stands up and heads to the door. She slides the door closed behind her, turns off all the lights in the kitchen, then heads to her bedroom.

 

Once there she shuts the door and slips off the thin sweater, tossing it over the nearby chair. She climbs into bed and sighs. There was a lot on her mind. She was starting back on homicide, worrying about Dan and she felt guilty over having to lie to protect Trixie.

Yet all of those emotions fade the longer she lays there, and her mind slowly runs onto Lucifer. When would he be back? How would he act? Would he pretend nothing happened or would he change into some … domesticated boyfriend.

 _Boyfriend._ That word makes her feel strange.

_Boyfriend._

_Would Lucifer be her boyfriend?_ Had he ever had a real relationship? Did he want one from her? Or did he just enjoy the chase? Was she something to be conquered? What would happen when he finally had her?

She sighs, and she rolls over on her side. She had allowed herself to think about Lucifer romantically since he had told he loved her, but the answer she had wanted for so long only led to more questions.

She tucks her hands beneath her pillow as she gets comfortable.

Suddenly, a look of recognition falls over her face and she pulls her hand back to reveal one of Lucifer’s folded shirts. It was the shirt she threw on the morning after her possession; after her clothing had been destroyed, and she had to borrow his shirt.

She pulls it to her face and inhales to smell the faint aroma of his cologne. She closes her eyes, taking the scent in deeply.

He had been gone for a week, and the aroma of his cologne had faded each new day. What was once a strong and present scent, was weak and almost nonexistent. Still, if she smelled it enough, she could just make out the scent of his body. It filled her with a longing she had finally accepted was there. Yes, she missed him, and furthermore, she _allowed_ herself to admit she missed him.

She feels her heart racing just thinking about him. What used to be a dull ache she could ignore was now undeniable. She closes her eyes as a hand slips beneath the band of her pajama pants.

She brings the shirt closer to smell it. It wasn’t the real thing, but it kept his scent on the tip of her memory, just enough to fuel her imagination. She imagined him, _bursting_ through the door, unable to spend one more night away from her. He would wrap her in his arms and lay her gently on the bed.

Her breath becomes heavy, and a soft and dampened moan escapes her closed lips.

She imagines that morning again like she had done several times since then. At first, she tried to figure out why it happened, and now she only cares that _it did_. She imagines his lips on hers, passionately kissing her again. She remembers what it was like, his body pressed against hers; his naked skin rubbing against her own.

She lifts her knees and lays her feet flat on the bed; imagining him laying between her legs as her body becoming increasingly sensitive to her touch.

She remembers what it was like, to feel him thrust deep inside of her. She thought that sex with Lucifer Morningstar would be carnal and empty, judging by how many women said they felt nothing for him. But she couldn’t get it out her mind how tightly he had clung to her and how quickly his heartbeat sped up with each new graze of her hand.

He had always made it apparent that sex for him was an event, for which he planned extensively like one would a vacation. Yet, it had all felt unplanned – _spontaneous_. It felt like he had let his guard down for one brief moment and in that she felt him – _all of him_ \- and in more ways than one.

_And right now, she wanted to feel him again._

She slips two fingers inside of herself with one hand as the other – still gripping his shirt tightly – lifts her pajama top a few inches, exposing her abdomen to the cool room air. She brings his shirt closer to her nose and deeply inhales. It is filled with traces of his body.

She moans into his shirt as she curves her fingers, hitting that spot that makes her eyes roll back into her head and her back arch as a wave of pleasure cascades over her; draping her lovingly in ecstasy.

 

“Ohhhh,” she gasps breathlessly as she bucks her hips; trying to get every last second of pleasure from her orgasm.

 

When it subsides, she lays there basking in the aftermath as every synapse and nerve in her body recalibrates.

She opens her eyes to the darkness of her room, half wishing he were standing there. Her eyes turn to his shirt. It had done its job, but soon it wouldn’t be enough. Soon the final traces of him would fade from it, and she would have nothing.

What if he couldn’t come back? _What if she would never again be cradled in his arms?_ She had spent all this time running from his advances, and now that she no longer wanted to run, he wasn't there.

She withdraws her fingers from her body before neatly folding the shirt and putting it back beneath her pillow.

She flips onto her side and gets comfortable again, her body now obscenely relaxed. She had touched herself to Lucifer Morningstar many times, but this was the first time she allowed herself to think of him past that moment of satiation.

Could she really have him? All of him?

\--

Lucifer slowly lowers himself onto the balcony of his penthouse, carrying Maze in his arms. As soon as his feet hit the balcony, she jumps out of his arms and strides towards the bar. She pauses and looks around the penthouse to see it is in complete disarray. She turns to him with a curious look on her face as he steps into the living room and sees the same thing. He looks around his penthouse and scoffs.

“What the … it appears as though a tornado has ravaged my living space,” he says.

 

Maze squints her eyes, “Yeah, it's almost like you summoned a storm of hellhounds.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, pointing to the coffee table filled with old take out containers, “Hellhounds know better than to eat that stuff,” he says.

 

“You and Decker really tore the place up, huh?” she says, a sly smile on her face.

 

He shoots her a devilish smile, “Maze!”

 

She giggles in delight and ash falls from her hair onto the tiled floors. She’s _covered_ in ash. Her hair is peppered with it, and her clothing looks like she waltzed through a cloud of charcoal and blood.

Lucifer himself looks like he’s been through, well … hell. His suit is crinkled beyond his character, and his shirt is splattered with blood; some his, some Ezria’s. It's clear he's way overdue for a wardrobe change.

 

“You know, I thought humans were bad but man-,“ she says to herself as she is about to cross over his living room.

 

“Ah ah,” he says, scolding her as she pauses, “go around the back. You have no idea how difficult soot is to get out of a carpet.”

 

She looks at him oddly, “You _do_ see the rest of your penthouse, right? I doubt a little ash on the carpet is going to make a difference.”

 

She rolls her eyes and walks around the back of the couch anyway, just to appease him. He collapses his wings, adjusts his jacket and walks calmly behind the couch.

 

“Well, I suppose after all that time of clamoring to go back home I did you a favor by denying your request,” he says smugly.

 

She approaches the bar and sets her satchel of thoroughly-broken-in knives down onto the bar. She reaches over the bar and pulls two glasses. She then reaches for the bottle directly next to the sink and pops it open. She sniffs it, then looks at it oddly.

 

“It's not bourbon, but it will do the trick,” she says.

She pours two glasses of whiskey; completely ignoring Lucifer's statement and not giving him the satisfaction of being right _yet again_. He approaches the bar and takes a seat gingerly on the chair. She sighs and sits on one of the bar stools in front of the bar.

 

“I thought going back would …,” she begins.

 

She shakes her head, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”

 

Lucifer sighs, “I always made a point to say that Hell wasn’t my favorite place but … I suppose it made sense you wanted to go home,” he says.

 

Lucifer pauses and raises his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl inside.

 

“For a long time after my fall, I wanted to go back to the Silver City. I ... missed my brothers and sisters; my family.”

 

"and now?" she asks.

 

He turns to her, "Well, I'd say to hell with them, but ... you know."

 

Maze laughs and turns back her drink. Her smile fades, and she stares solemnly at it.

 

“They were so eager to destroy me for a chance to be by your side,” she says, tossing back her drink at the end of her sentence and pouring herself another one.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Oh, like I would let that happen.”

 

Mazikeen raises her eyebrows, “That’s what I said!”

 

He smiles and takes a sip. There is a comfortable silence between them. Maze lowers her eyes to her glass.

 

“I don’t think anyone there missed me. It used to be so different there,” she says.

 

He looks at her oddly and tilts his head.

 

“Is that … nostalgia?” Lucifer asks with a cheeky grin on his face, “Why, Mazikeen. If I knew any better, I’d say you were experiencing human emotion.”

 

"And you would know _how_?" She asks.

 

He looks at her with that bewildered look on his face. She laughs to herself and downs her drinks.

 

“Okay, enough talking. Take me to my sleeping place,” she says.

 

He shakes his head, “I’ll call a ride for you.”

 

She pauses and looks at him, “You haven’t seen Chloe since you went all blue-eyed on her. I thought you would be excited to see your girlfriend again.”

 

He looks at her oddly, a look of offense on his face.  _Girlfriend?_

 

“She is not my girlfriend, Maze,” he says.

 

She gives him a look as if trying to decide just how stupid he is.

“Unbelievable,” she says.

 

He waves her off as he pulls out his phone to call her a car. She looks behind him to his bedroom and smiles widely.

 

“Besides, where are you going to sleep?” she asks.

 

He looks at her oddly then turns to his bedroom to see Amenadiel seemingly fast asleep in his bed.

 

He groans, “Oh, bloody hell."

 

Maze laughs, grabs her knives and heads to the elevator.

 

“I’ll be in the car.”

 

A bit of ash falls from her hair onto the bar. He watches it cascade gently to the countertop.

 

"Uh, Mazikeen," he says.

She turns and faces him.

"Do choose one of the cheaper ones," he says. She rolls her eyes and presses the button to call the elevator.

 

Lucifer’s eye turns to the ash on the bar. He grabs a nearby napkin and goes to wipe it off the bar table. He crumples the napkin before turning and throwing it into the trash at the end of the bar. His eyes glance over to the coffee table filled with take-out containers and he sighs, he's going to have to call the cleaning crew to sort this out in the morning.

He is about to walk up the stairs towards the bathroom when he pauses. He turns his eyes back to the ground. The path Maze had walked was laced with dust and ash, but his side was clean; save for perfectly formed footprints of ash.

He looks up to watch Maze enter the elevator and press the button to go down. She is covered head to toe in small flecks of ash as if she had walked through a burning building. The elevator door closes just as he reaches up to grab a bit of his hair. He pulls his hair back to find it empty; _clean_.

Slowly, he turns his eyes to the mirror by the bar. They scrunch in confusion when he sees himself. With his hair slightly messed up, his suit crinkled and bloodied, he notices something even Maze neglected to mention.

There was no soot, no charcoal, no … ash. He didn’t look nearly as put together as he should, but he did not appear as though he had walked through hell and back.

By comparison, Maze had been _completely covered_. It peppered her hair, and a thin layer covered her clothing like dust on an old book. He looked down at his suit, the only ash on him is the residue from Maze’s body as he carried her out of hell.

 

“That … that can’t be,” he says to himself taking off his jacket to view the back of it.

 

He turns to the elevator, half expecting Maze to be standing there.

 

“There’s no ash,” he says to himself.

 

 _How could there be no ash?_ It had fallen steady like a light rain in hell, and she had been down there just as long as he had. He had been to the depths of hell near the lava lake and to the peak of his tower. Yet, here he was, no ash; everything was _too clean._

 

He shakes his head, “How …”

\--

In the driveway of a middle-class suburban home, a silver SUV pulls up. The garage door opens slowly, and the car pulls in.

The car shuts off, and a woman in her mid 30’s gets out of the vehicle, in mid-conversation on the phone.

 

“Exactly. I know this is a reunion, but it’s not high school anymore, you know? There’s actual work to be done here,” she says as she approaches the door to the house.

 

She reaches out and pushes a button mounted on the wall. The garage door slowly begins to close as she enters the house and shuts the door behind her.

Inside, she walks down a short hallway before entering the kitchen, turning on the light and setting her purse, her keys and a briefcase on the table.

 

“Honestly, that whole situation is a mess. It’s a sham anyway.," she says, "Let her have it. We don't need little titles like that to fulfill our life.”

 

She goes over to the sink and begins to wash her hands, the phone tucked between her neck and shoulder.

 

“Exactly,” she says, grabbing a nearby paper towel. She dries her hands and tosses the paper towel into the trash.

 

“Anyway, I just got home. So I’m going to go make some dinner and relax … alright … later love,” she says.

 

She hangs up and sets her phone on the counter. She looks around briefly while reaching up to take off her earrings.

 

“Babe?” she asks out loud. She kicks herself when she realizes what day it is.

 

“Right,” she says to herself before sighing,” Love him to death but …”

 

She sets both her earrings on the counter then she hears a sound behind her, and she turns to the hallway that leads to the garage. The door is ajar.

She tilts her head curiously and looks down the dark hallway. She could have sworn she shut that door.

 

“Babe?” she asks, setting her earrings down on the table and slowly approaching the door, “Did you change your mind about David’s?” she asks.

 

She grabs the handle to the door and slowly swings it open. She is met with a dark garage. It is silent in here, save for the sound of metal creaking as her car slowly cools down from the drive.

Maybe she didn’t close the door all the way?

She steps back and makes sure the door is fully shut this time, also making sure to lock it – just in case.

She sighs and turns around. She only is able to react for a few seconds before confusion, and then horror falls over her eyes as a figure behind her closes its distance.

\--

Chloe is fast asleep when there is a loud thud somewhere in the apartment. It wakes her immediately and she sits up, her ears keen on every sound as she sits silently.

She hears another sound, this time the creak of a floorboard. It sounds like someone is moving around downstairs. A wave of panic comes over her. She reaches over to her night side table and pulls her gun out, before gently stepping a foot onto her floor and calmly walking down the stairs into the living room.

The kitchen light is on, and the front door is slightly ajar. Chloe turns her head towards Trixie’s bedroom door. It is still closed. She walks forward to approach the front door when she hears shuffling in Maze's room. She turns to see the door to Maze’s room closed.

Chloe takes one deep breath and approaches Maze's door. She reaches out one hand, while the other hand points the gun firmly. Then in one full swing, she opens the door and aims the gun inside. She pauses, and her eyes widen as Maze turns to her, fully nude and covered in soot and blood.

 

“Whoa,” Maze says, unapologetically naked, “Is this how you welcome me back?”

 

Chloe looks at her confused, then shocked to see her. She lowers the gun.

 

“I … I’m sorry you scared me. I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t know when you’d be back,” she says.

 

Maze smiles, “Yeah, there's really no ETA on returning from Hell, Decker.”

 

Chloe looks at her, but more past her. Maze raises one eyebrow and sighs.

 

“Yes, Lucifer is back too. He’s parking the car.”

 

Chloe looks at her and shakes her head.

 

“No, I wasn’t –“

 

“It’s okay,” she says, “I get it,” a tone of dejection in her voice.

 

Chloe softly smiles, then realizes she’s staring at a fully naked Maze. She averts her eyes. Maze smiles at Chloe averting her eyes.

_I mean, who wouldn’t want to see this?_

 

“We can talk more in the morning,” Chloe says, turning to leave again, “Just remember that when you talk to Trixie, you went to Miami and not Hell.”

 

Chloe exits and gently shuts the door behind her.

There, Chloe stands looking out towards the kitchen; her mind running a mile a minute with thoughts. Lucifer was back. He had finally come back. She had been eager to have him back for a week now, to smell him again, and to feel his arms wrapped around her. _So why did she suddenly feel nervous?_

The door slowly opens and Lucifer, dressed down in just a plain white button up and blue trousers steps in. She looks at him and her heart stops.

_He was here. He was really here._

He shuts the door gently. He then turns to see her standing there, one hand over her chest while the other firmly grasps a gun.

 

“I hope you don’t plan on shooting me, Detective,” he says.

 

She looks down at her hand and shakes her head before flipping the safety on and setting the gun on the kitchen table.

 

“No,” she says, “I wasn’t going to –“

 

“Good, because I believe we'd already had that experience and as it turns out, the Devil does bleed,” he smiles.

 

She approaches him further, and his smile fades. He looks at her oddly, as if waiting carefully for what she might do next. She had this strange look in her eyes.

 

She approaches him and places a hand on his chest, her fingers gently touching the fabric of his shirt.

She looks up at him, that look of awe in her eyes.

 

_He was really here._

 

“You’re back,” she says, in disbelief.

 

He smiles and reaches a hand up to move a loose strand of hair behind her ears.

 

“Of course, Detective. Where else would I go?” he says, looking down on her with those loving eyes.

 

She bites her lips and raises herself on her tippy toes to place a gentle kiss on his lips. He smiles into it and wraps his arms around her. They kiss sweetly for a moment before she pulls them apart. He leans into her, not wanting to leave until the last second. She smiles and crosses her arms.

 

“How was your trip?” she asks, suddenly happy and wide awake.

 

He grunts and places his hands in his pocket, “Oh Detective, it was horrible. Tedious. Just downright awful,” he says.

 

“I suppose there is a reason they call it hell,” she smiles.

 

He chuckles to himself, “Yes well … it was a trip for business not pleasure,” he says, his eyes tracing the lines of her body. She notices, and a heat wave rolls over her body.

 

_She had missed the way he looked at her._

 

“I may have to make one more trip,” he warns her, his eyes locking back with hers, “once Ezria is ready to accept his duties … but until then, all is well.”

 

“There’s pleasure to be had in hell?” Chloe says sarcastically, trying to take her mind off the way he smells right now.

 

“Oh, of course, how do you think I made it so long down there?”

 

He smiles and puts his hands in his pockets. He turns his gaze towards her couch, and his smile fades.

 

“I … hate to impose, “he begins, “But It appears I’ve been Goldi-Locked out of my bedroom.”

 

She scrunches her eyebrows, “What?”

 

He takes his hand out of his pocket, “That’s a reference to a child’s book. I imagine you would have read the tale of Goldilocks and the three bears to your spawn at some point.”

 

She rolls her eyes, “Okay, First of all, her name is Trixie. She has a name. Second, I know what you were referencing Lucifer. “

 

“Good, so then you understand why I am upset that Amenadiel has taken to living in my penthouse in my absence,” he says, “You should have seen the place, Detective. It was like a bachelor’s pad after a bad breakup.”

 

She chuckles to herself.

 

He shakes his head, “Either way, it appears I need a place to stay the night. And perhaps the number of a good mattress incineration company. Who knows what he did on my bed while I was gone.”

 

“Couldn’t be worse than anything you’ve done,” she says under her breath.

 

“Pardon?” he says.

 

She shakes her head, "Look, Lucifer it’s not a big deal. You can stay with me,” she says, “It’s okay.”

 

“Are you sure? I had suggested to Mazikeen I acquire a hotel room but-” he says.

 

“Lucifer,” she says in a sweet tone, “you can always stay with me."

 

He smiles back and nods, “Thank you, Detective.”

 

She nods and walks behind him, locking the door.

 

“It will only be for the night,” he says assuringly, “I’ll be out of your way first thing in the morning.”

 

“Lucifer, you can stay as long as you need,” she says before glancing down at his feet.

 

“Take your shoes off.”

 

He looks down at his shoes and complies; slipping his feet out of his dress shoes. Then, he sets them beneath the table near the door. She shuts the light off, drowning her apartment into darkness again.

She turns to see Lucifer taking a seat on her sofa before spinning sideways and laying down. She frowns and walks towards her couch, her arms crossed.

 

“You … you’re sleeping on the couch?” she asks, trying to mask the disappointment in her voice.

 

She doesn’t do a good job. Lucifer notices.

 

“Oh, I assumed-,” he begins before pausing.

 

He sees the way she is looking at him as if he had rejected her. He sits up on the couch and then stands.

 

“My apologies, Detective,” he says, “It seems as though I am not yet used to you … wanting me.”

 

_Oh, if he only knew how much she wanted him right now._

 

She shakes her head and holds out her hand, “Come,” she says.

 

She turns to the table quickly and grabs her gun with her other hand before coming back to her spot by the sofa. He reaches out to grab her hand. The moment their skin touches, he feels a tingle throughout his entire body. Her hands are soft and warm. He had missed her touch. She leads him upstairs to the bedroom. He steps in, and she closes the door behind her. He stares at the bed, his heart racing fast. He turns to her, and she looks at him softly.

 

“I usually sleep on this side,” she says, “but …you know whichever side works for you.”

 

He smiles and relaxes. It’s just sleep. He pauses for a moment.

_Why had he been so nervous just now?_

When he doesn’t move, she walks over to her side of the bed and slips the gun back into her nightstand. Then, she gets in bed, pulling the covers over her body. She looks at him, and he nods. Right, he thinks, perhaps standing there staring like a deer in headlights is not the _best_ response. He walks around the left side of the bed and pulls back the covers.

 

“Do you mind?” he asks, pointing to his clothes.

 

She doesn’t mind. _She doesn’t mind at all._

 

 “No, get comfortable. I'm just surprised you asked first,” she says as she turns onto her side, watching him as he prepares for bed.

 

He smiles to himself.

 

“How long have I been gone?” he asks as he reaches down and untucks the shirt from his pants.

 

“A little over a week,” she says, “nine days.”

 

He nods and turns, thinking to himself. That reminds Chloe.

 

“Oh, I got put back on homicide,” she says with a smile.

 

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

 

“Congratulations Detective!” he says, “Does that mean we are back at slapping cuffs on the bad guys and running around town solving murders?”

 

Her smile turns into a frown, and she sits up. Lucifer slides out of his shirt and lays it gently on the side table nearby. He turns his attention to his pants.

 

“I wasn’t actually able to get you back on as a consultant,” she says, “but maybe you can talk to Lieutenant Edwards in the morning. She said she might be able to get you on if you do some policy courses.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Policy courses? Detective, that sounds _horrible_. No, no. That won’t do.”

 

He unzips his pants and slips one long leg out of his trousers. It is followed by the next leg. He takes it, folds it best he can, and sits it on top of his shirt. Chloe tries hard not to look, but her eyes go _immediately_ to his dark blue boxer briefs.

 

“Couldn’t be any worst than going to hell,” she says, her eyes tracing around the bulge in his boxers.

 

“I’m sure after a little chit chat, she’ll see otherwise,” he says as he climbs into bed.

 

He pauses halfway through and looks at Chloe, something dawning on him.

 

“Wait a minute, did you say she? As in the new Lieutenant is a woman?”

 

Chloe nods, her eyes drifting up across his chiseled torso. She meets his dark, glassy eyes and smiles.

“Yeah,” she says before registering what he just said. She squints her eyes, her dazed look erased and replaced with suspicion.

“Yes, she is. Why? Is that important?”

 

He smiles, “Darling, what are you worried about? I’ll get back on homicide in no time. I’ll just turn on my charm – you know, the one that doesn’t work on you – and we’ll be punishing baddies in no time.”

He climbs fully into bed and covers himself. They lay on their sides facing each other. Once his head hits the pillow, he groans as his muscles relax into the bed. Usually, it would take several hours to acclimate back to earth after being gone for so many days, but perhaps this proximity to the Detective has made him more vulnerable to sleep.

He sighs and snakes his hand beneath the pillow. Suddenly his face changes, and he sits up, pulling a button up shirt from beneath it. He looks at it then turns to Chloe, whose eyes are suddenly _popping_ out of her head.

 

“Detective?” he asks, “Is this my shirt?”

 

“Uh … yeah. I … I was going to give it back, but you were gone and … you know.”

 

He looks at her oddly and slightly shrugs, before reaching behind him and setting the shirt on top of his pants. He turns back to her and smiles.

 

“Seems I saved you a trip, Detective,” he says.

 

She nods and turns the other way, “Yeah, thanks. Get some sleep, okay?” she says.

 

Her heart beats in her chest, and she listens as he lays back down and lets go another heavy sigh. The room falls silent, and she slowly relaxes.

 

“Good Night ...” he says softly, as almost a whisper; his words elongated as sleep takes hold of him.

“ …Chloe,” he finishes.

 

Her eyes lower as she runs his words through her head. She slowly turns over to him.

He’s fast asleep. She turns over to face him and pulls the cover over her shoulders. She watches him sleep for a moment before smiling.

He was here. Right here. She had thought about him for a week straight. She had kept his shirt to remember his scent, and now he was here. And now she didn’t need his shirt.

And he was lying next to her.

  
And now she could smell his cologne clearly. It was warm and called to her.

 

She listens to the sound of him breathing, and it dawns on her that he is laying in her bed.

This man.

This _devil_.

She squints her eyes.

He didn’t look like a devil to her.

 

“Good night Lucifer,” she says before she closes her eyes.

\--

 


	4. Almost Normal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe gets back to work on a new murder case while questioning how she should approach her and Lucifer. Lucifer and the Lieutenant talk about his role at the station.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up. It's twice as long as other chapters but I wanted to do slightly more case fic in this part and had to set it up.

“Mommy?”

 

Chloe’s eyes slowly open, and the blurry figure in front of her becomes clearer and clearer until she sees a pajama-clad Trixie standing at the edge of her bed.

 

Chloe blinks and sits up; a clarity slowly seeping into her eyes as she shakes off the fog of sleep.

 

“ _Hey monkey_ ,” she says hoarsely as she sits up.

 

Trixie’s eyes move behind her, then back to Chloe; they are coated in worry and confusion. Trixie leans in and whispers, “Who is that?”

 

Chloe looks confused then turns to see Lucifer still fast asleep, his head tucked beneath the pillow. She turns back to Trixie and pauses. How would she explain Lucifer being in her bed? They hadn’t even spoken about what they were, and it was way too early to introduce Trixie to the idea.

 

“Uhm,” she says turning to Trixie, “Lucifer had a problem at his house when he got back from his trip. So, he had to stay with mommy until his home is ready.”

 

Trixie’s eyes widen, and she smiles, “Does that mean Maze is back!?” she says.

 

Chloe shushes her and slowly gets out of bed.

 

“Yes, but they had a really long trip and need to sleep. So, let’s be quiet, okay?”

 

Trixie nods and hops for joy. Chloe turns to look at the clock. 7:30 in the morning, they were going to be late. She turns back to Trixie.

 

“Go get ready for school okay?”

 

Trixie happily exits the room. Chloe brushes her hair back and turns to see Lucifer still sleeping; his head beneath the pillow. She looks at him then turns to the window as she realizes a beam of light is hitting him right where his face would be.

 

She heads over to the window and closes the blinds, making the room slightly darker. She then throws on the light sweater draped over the nearby chair, grabs her phone off the night table, and exits to head downstairs into the kitchen.

 

She crosses over the dining area and opens the fridge to pull out a jug of milk. Then she grabs a bowl and spoon from the cupboard and carries everything to the table. She then heads back to the fridge and takes a box of cereal off the top of it, fumbling with the packaging. She looks over to the open door of Trixie’s room.

 

“Are you getting dressed?” she asks softly, attempting not to wake Maze.

 

“Yes,” Trixie replies, sounding as if she were struggling.

 

Chloe pours a bowl of cereal and set the box on the table before shuffling over to Trixie’s bedroom and pausing at her open bedroom door. Trixie is attempting to pull a light sweater over a tank top. Chloe smiles and enters, helping her unstick her tiny and clumsy limbs that whip around like the tentacles on an octopus. Once the sweater is on, Chloe lovingly looks down at her and tidies her hair. She’ll need to brush it after she has breakfast.

 

“I poured you a bowl for breakfast, okay? Remember to brush your teeth after you eat. I’m going to get dressed.”

 

Trixie nods. Just then the front door opens and Chloe, a look of confusion on her face, steps backward into the living room to see Maze and Bubbles walk in.

 

“You’re awake,” Chloe says, surprised.

 

Maze laughs, “Awake? Decker, do you know how impossible it is sleeping after a week in Hell-“

 

Trixie runs out of her room, “MAZE!” she yells as she runs to her, arms open wide.

 

“ _Oooooh_ ,” Maze finishes as Trixie wraps her arms around her waist.

 

She looks at Chloe, a look to suggest she almost dropped the ball.

 

“Hello … stranger,” she says, looking down at Trixie.

 

“I missed you!” Trixie says.

 

Maze pauses.

 

“You… you did?”

 

Trixie looks up at her and smiles with one tooth missing, “Did you bring anything back for me?” she asks.

 

“Trixie!” Chloe says, trying to impart how rude of a question that was.

 

“I did,” Maze lies, “I uhm. I left it at Lucifer’s place. I’ll have to get it and bring it to you tonight.”

 

Trixie smiles, “Okay!”

 

Chloe’s phone rings and she reaches into the pocket of her sweater to answer.

 

“Decker,” she says. She pauses for a second and nods, “I’ll be there as soon as I can, thanks, Ella.”  
She hangs up then stuffs the phone in her pocket.

 

“I have to go get ready for work,” she says with a smile, “Monkey, eat your breakfast.”

 

Chloe speeds to her bedroom, leaving Maze and Trixie alone. Trixie lets go of Maze and goes to sit at the table. She looks at the bowl then frowns. She turns to Maze with a sad look in her eye.

 

“What?” Maze says flatly.

 

“Mommy forgot to pour the milk,” she says.

 

Maze looks at her oddly then turns her eyes to the milk as if it did something wrong. She approaches the table, uncaps the milk and pours seemingly way too much milk into the bowl. Then she drops the jug on the table, forcing a little to come out the top.

 

“Better?”

Trixie smiles then picks up the spoon and begins eating. Maze watches her for a moment, then turns her eyes to a roll of paper towels. She walks to the roll, grabs a paper towel, and heads back to the table.

 

“Here,” she says, handing it to Trixie. Trixie looks at her oddly while chewing.

 

Maze sighs and reaches forward, tucking the paper towel between the neck of a sweater to form a paper towel bib.

 

“So, you don’t mess up your shirt,” she says.

 

Trixie doesn’t seem to pay her any mind and goes back to eating. Maze stands there watching her, a slight smile slowly coming across her face. She sits down in a nearby chair and watches as Trixie eats.

 

\--

 

Chloe enters her bedroom to see Lucifer has his head above the pillow; the light no longer shining in his eyes. He is still fast asleep, completely knocked out. She smiles to herself and heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Several minutes later, when she has finished showering the door opens again, and she peeks out to see him still sleeping. Draped only in a towel, she quietly moves into her closet to collect her clothing before heading back into the bathroom to shut it again.

Several _moments_ later, a fully dressed and ready Chloe steps out into the bedroom. She crosses to her side of the bed and opens the side table to retrieve her badge and gun. She snaps the badge to her belt and attaches the holster to her body.

She turns to see Lucifer still dead asleep. She smiles and kneels on the bed to gently nudge him awake.

 

“Lucifer,” she says softly. He doesn’t respond. She continues shaking him, and he groans in protest.

 

“Not now, Detective. The devil is tired,” he mumbles.

 

She smiles warmly.

 

“Lucifer, I have to go to work now, okay?”

 

He grunts a response that sounds a lot like an affirmation.

 

“Stay as long as you like, alright? Just ... don’t forget to speak with the Lieutenant today.”

 

He doesn’t respond this time; it’s clear he’s fast asleep again. She sighs and pushes herself off the bed. She’ll just have to text him later. She heads towards the door and opens it. She pauses and looks back at him, her eyes tracing over his resting body.

A small smile comes to her face. She exits the room, gently closing the door behind her.

 

\--

 

Downstairs, Trixie and bubbles are playing while Maze watches. Chloe comes downstairs and rushes to put her shoes on.

 

“You ready baby?” she says, “we have to hurry, or we’re going to be late.”

 

“You in a rush Decker? I could always drop Trixie off so you and Lucifer can … _catch up._ ”

 

Chloe blushes and turns away from Maze, “Oh, I didn’t tell you. I’m being put back on homicide. Today is my first day.”

 

Maze raises her eyes, “That’s great,” she says in a way that from any other person would sound sarcastic, but from Maze it’s obvious she means it.

 

“Yeah, Ella called me half an hour ago about a new case.”

 

Chloe turns to Trixie, “Baby, you got your stuff?”

 

Trixie nods and Chloe turns to the side table to get her keys.

 

“Okay, let’s go,” she says. She opens the door and letting Trixie exit first.

 

“Alright, I’ll see you later Maze,” Chloe says as she begins to leave.

 

“Wait," Maze says, “you’re not taking Cass- … Bubbles?”

 

Chloe looks at her oddly, “To a crime scene?”

 

Maze shakes her head, “No, to where ever Trixie’s going. How can he protect her when he’s stuck here?”

 

Chloe laughs, “She’s going to school Maze. She doesn’t need protection there.”

 

Chloe exits, shutting the door behind her and Maze turns to Bubbles. She squints her eyes.

 

“So, you just sit here all day?” she asks.

 

He looks at her and whimpers. Maze squints her eyes and tilts her head.

 

“How do you feel about bounty hunting?” she asks.

 

Bubbles tilts his head, oddly matching the angle of Maze’s head tilt; his ears shifting backwards in curiosity.

 

\--

 

Inside the living room of a two-story suburban home, Ella kneels over the body of a young woman. Ella leans uncomfortably close to the pool of blood that has formed around the back of her head.

 

“Huh,” she says.

 

She leans back on her heels and reaches down for a clipboard near her feet before scribbling something on the notepad. She looks around the place for a moment. There’s something not right about the crime scene, but it hasn't clicked what it is yet. She turns back to the body and reaches a hand out to shift the head of the woman slightly so she can see the wound.

Chloe enters the crime scene through the front door across from Ella. Ella looks up as she approaches. Ella smiles and stands up.

 

“Chloe!” she says excitedly.

 

Chloe nods, “Sorry, I’m late. Lucifer and Maze got back last night, and he had an issue with his penthouse.”

 

Ella pauses, “Maze is back?”

 

Chloe nods and looks down at the body.

 

“Yeah, they are a little worst for wear, but nothing sleep can’t fix.”

 

“Is … are they feeling okay? “ Ella asks.

 

Chloe shrugs.

 

“A lot better than she’s feeling, I’m sure,” Chloe says, looking down at the dead woman on the ground.

 

Ella chuckles probably a bit too much. Chloe looks at her oddly.

 

“It’s just … it’s so great to have you back,” Ella says, “It’s been a real sausage fest without you. You know, not that I have any complaints. But you know … not that I’m judging either…”

 

Chloe tilts her head curiously. _What is going on with Ella?_

Ella realizes she’s being weird, coughs, and visibly calms herself down.

 

“What do we have?” Chloe says as she looks down at the body, attempting to get back on task.

 

She grabs gloves off a nearby side table and begins to put them on. Ella turns and pulls up her clipboard with her not-yet-contaminated hand. Chloe can see as Ella's mouth begins to move, explaining what information she has gleaned for far, but the words slowly fade out. Her mind is someplace else; on him.

 

She can still smell his cologne.

 

She thinks about the weight of his body in her bed and how still he was while he slept. She thinks about his words.

 

_Not now, Detective._

 

But when? Was she ready? Were they ready to finish what they started? She hadn't even spoken to him about it yet.

 

He had been gone for a week, and all had been silent. No Lucifer, no real work, no … _celestial_ interruptions. She had time to go through all the emotions she had been avoiding, like addressing her denial.

 

She had denied he was who he was, because he had told her he loved her and she wanted desperately for that to be it. She had done nothing but deny this entire time. First that he had told her anything but the truth on who he was. Then, she denied she had feelings for him. Now she had denied that he was who he was simply _because_ she had feelings for him.

He had left her by herself, with only her thoughts and emotions. He had made it impossible to deny anymore.

 

He was the devil.

So, what did it mean to love the devil?

 

That was followed by anger. _She was angry._

Angry that she had been put in this situation where she had to choose.

Angry that the _one man_ she told herself she would never be with was the only man she wanted.

Angry that he had turned out to be the _literal_ devil.

 

God had said it himself; she was put in Lucifer’s way. He had tossed several women at him, but she was the only one who stayed.

Why her? Did Lucifer know? Was she promised to him like some arranged wedding? Was his love even real? Could it ever be real?

 

Then, there was bargaining. She thought maybe they could be something if he just … stopped being the devil; If he stopped punishing people, and sleeping with random women, and doing favors. Maybe they could make it work. Maybe if he just … _changed._

That idea didn’t last long, however, as she knew asking Lucifer to be anyone than who he was wouldn’t work, and furthermore – she didn’t want him to be anyone else. She had long accepted his quirks and particularities. She had long accepted that sex to him was as simple as drinking water or breathing air. She didn’t like it, but he wasn’t a normal man. Perhaps making compromises would be a part of their relationship.

There that word was again; _relationship._

 _What was their relationship?_ What were they? She wanted to talk to him about it but … talking about it – airing it out in the open made her feel more vulnerable than she was ready for.

What if she wouldn’t like the answer? Then what? What if all she had been through was for nothing? What if he just ran from her like he did every time they got this close?

Like the time he disappeared and married a stripper or the time he tried to buy her a car instead of just telling her he didn’t want her to be with Pierce – with Cain.

She wonders what that was like for him; watching her “love” another man.

She thinks about how it was for her. She had used Pierce to make the hurt go away, but it didn’t; _It only hurt more_. She had almost married him. She had almost put Trixie in a situation she didn’t belong in.

 

That, of course, led her into depression. She loved Lucifer; she deeply loved him more than she had anyone – even Dan. Dan was the father of her child. He wasn’t perfect, and towards the end, he didn’t even try to be, but he did love her, and she loved him.

She thought that after their divorce she wouldn’t find anyone, and honestly, she didn’t want to. It was messy; it hurt. She had a daughter to think about. She wouldn’t dare bring a new man into her life unless she knew he could love Trixie as much as she did.

Then he came along, and he didn’t like kids.

There was no attraction to him, only disgust. But even then that was an emotion; a response.

 

No man had ever made her feel so repulsed yet at the same time made her trust him the way she trusted Lucifer. She had run over every interaction of theirs until that point. He could have slept with her when she was drunk and emotional, but he didn’t.

He was an enigma; both hot and cold, both angel and devil. And after all of that, after everything she knew about him, she was still wondering how he tasted.

 

She wanted to climb into his bed and make love to him, but she didn’t want to be another notch on his bedpost. Could he love her and only her? Would she have to share their bed with strangers?

_Their bed._

There she was again, staking a claim to him like he was normal; like he could be claimed. Would they even have a bed? Would he spend every night with her?

 

Would it even matter if he was with other women if he loved her and only her? No, he wasn’t normal. He was immortal, and women to him were a dime a dozen. Would she have to settle for emotional exclusivity at the expense of him sharing his body with the whole city?

 

That thought led to acceptance in whatever form it was now. She was absolutely _batshit insane_ for loving him - and she knew that - but she couldn’t un-feel what she had taken so long to admit.

 _She was in love with the devil_.

She had to accept that and push forward. She had been possessed. She had looked into the eyes of God and witnessed a man torn limb from limb by hellhounds. Whatever they were, she could handle it. She had to, because if they were doomed to fail, then that was fated.

 

She clearly couldn’t control that, only how she reacted; only how she felt. And she didn’t have to fight that feeling anymore, not when he had told her he loved her.

Everything else … well, they would figure that out. It wouldn’t be easy with Lucifer, nothing ever was. But, if she had to walk through his fire to get to the other side then …

 

_… she was willing to burn._

 

“Are you even listening to me?” Ella says.

 

Chloe snaps out of her thought process and turns to Ella. Ella looks thoroughly disappointed like she had laid it all out for Chloe in some dramatic epilogue only to find her staring off into the distance.

 

“S-Sorry,” she says, “I was …well, I was … sorry, continue.”

 

Ella sighs as she repeats herself, “Our victim is Beverley Johnson. Time of death estimated to be around ten to twelve hours ago,” she says as she hands the clipboard to Chloe and kneels by the body. She reaches out with gloved hands and points to marks on the wrist of their victim.

 

“She has ligature marks on both wrists indicating she was bound. Coloration indicated it was before death,” Ella continues, reaching closer push the victim’s long locks to the side, revealing the side of her head. There, a deep gash is encrusted with dark and sticky blood.

 

“Cause of death, without a coroners report, I would say it would have something to do with blunt force trauma. It’s impossible to tell If there are any other wounds, but this seems to be the most major and is a good candidate.”

 

Ella points to the coffee table nearby. The corner of it has a small streak of blood on it.

 

“I’d have to be sure, but right now I’m thinking she fell and tripped, hitting her head on the side of the coffee table.”

 

Chloe nods and then gestures towards the woman’s hands.

 

“Where’s the rope?”

 

Ella shrugs, “We're still looking for it.”

 

Chloe nods, “Okay. Any sign we need to report this to SVU?”

 

Ella shakes her head, “There's no indication of sexual motive, but once we get the coroners report we’ll know more information. Hopefully, they can take cleaner pictures of the wound so I can compare it.”

 

“Okay,” Chloe says. She looks around the place for a moment. Her eyebrows furrow, and she turns back to the victim.

 

“What about a B&E?” Chloe says.

 

Ella shakes her head and stands up, “Door and windows all locked. The garage door was open indicating someone had an entry and exit point but, no broken hinges or glass.”

 

“Did you check her nails?” Chloe asks.

 

Ella scoffs, “This ain’t my first rodeo,” she says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Sorry! I just … I’m just trying to get back into the swing of things. I didn’t mean to question you. You’re fine.”

 

Ella smiles, “I’m just joking! Yes, we checked her nails. We’ve already sent the scrapings to the lab. I should have something when I get back.”

 

“Okay,” Chloe says.

 

She turns her eyes back to the apartment and gives it another cursory glance. There’s the kitchen to her right, which looks relatively clean; the living room which – besides the dead body in its center – looked thoroughly lived in; behind her, a dining room that led to the front door after passing a large trophy case.

 

Chloe’s eyes narrow as she turns back to Ella with a confused look on her face, “Does it seem too … clean in here to you?”

 

Ella nods, “I’d like to imagine our victim put up a hell of a fight but ...”

 

Ella looks around the living room and glances into kitchen. Everything, save for dented walls near the hallway to the garage, looked in good order.

 

“Maybe this isn’t where she was murdered?” Chloe asks, “Maybe she was murdered off-site and brought here.”

 

“To her home?” Ella says, “That’s an awful message to send.”

 

Chloe nods, “Yeah. Question is, who was the message for.”

 

Chloe thinks for a moment, then looks around.

 

“Was she single?” Chloe asks.

 

Ella shakes her head, “No, her husband called it in this morning. He should be outside.”

 

Chloe nods.

 

“Let me know if you find anything else,” Chloe says, "I'll do a walk of the home then go talk to the husband."

 

Ella nods, “On it.”

 

\--

 

Lucifer pops his eyes open and finds himself standing inside the Silver City Observatory. He looks around for a moment, a confused and cautious look on his face. He turns to the open sky behind him and slowly approaches the balcony, his eyes locked on the stars. Something about them is wrong. This was not the sky he created. This sky was warped and broken and didn’t fill him with a sense of wonder or pride. In fact, it made him feel something entirely different; _shame._

 

He hears a noise behind him and turns only to be standing face to face with himself. He stares at the exact image of him, firey red eyes and all. His eyes trace over the mirrored man in front of him, confusion permanently plastered on his face.

 

“What the-“ he begins to say before the mirrored man reaches out and forcefully pushes him, his palm landing in the center of Lucifer’s chest. The mirrored man’s arms extend way longer than they should, and suddenly Lucifer is falling through space.

 

The nebula and stars become smaller and smaller until he is falling into darkness. It goes on and on. The only light anywhere comes from him as if he were his own light; his own star. He falls endlessly through this open and empty space. He reaches his hand out to grab onto something – anything – but there is nothing around; there is no one around.

 

Suddenly the light around him is dimmed as he crashes into a massive lake and comes to a stop fifteen feet past the surface. The water of this lake is cold – freezing even – and completely dark.

 

He floats there momentarily, not able to see anything, but he can hear movement in the water by him; _something_ is swimming around him.

It is large and fast and encircles him like a vulture circle its prey. His lungs fill with water, and he struggles to breathe. He swims upwards, knowing there must be a surface to breach.

Yet, there is none. It feels like the more he swims, the farther away from air he becomes.

Suddenly it is quiet, and it is apparent there is nothing near him.

He is alone; forever gasping for air.

\--

Lucifer’s eyes pop open as he sits up in Chloe’s bed, taking a large gasp of air. He catches his breath as he looks around, confused for a moment. Then, he remembers he spent the night with the detective. He steadies his breathing.

 

Slowly, he turns his head to the alarm clock on the side table behind him. It’s 10:14 a.m.

 

He turns his glance to the place where the detective had slept and reaches out to feel the spot where she was. It’s cold; she’s been gone for some time. He sighs and tosses the covers off him, planting his feet firmly on the ground. He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He lowers his head just enough that he can place his hands on either side of his skull.

 

He massages his hair gently - half scratching, half rubbing - before sitting straight up. He looks around again before turning his eyes to the bedside table where his clothing lays. He tilts his head and reaches out to the shirt he had pulled from beneath her pillow. _Why did she have it beneath her pillow?_

 

He lets out a large sigh and sets the shirt aside before leaning over and grabbing his pants. He wanted to stay here, in her bed, but he had much to do today, and waiting around here would not help. He stands and slips his legs into the pants while looking around. The detective's bedroom was quiet and not at all interesting.

 

It was normal, some might say boring, but there was something about it. It felt as though he had made it into the inner sanctum. Like had he taken a peek behind the curtain and instead of finding some secret shame that all mortals seemed to have, he found nothing. Instead, he found it peaceful.

 

It was delightfully … _human_.

 

He smiles to himself. She had let him into her bedroom, and he had spent the night. He likes it here, but something in him tells him he shouldn't be there; he didn't deserve to be here.

 

Suddenly, he remembers why he spent the night in the first place, and his face goes from relaxed to angry.

 

Amenadiel.

 

He turns to pick up his old shirt from the top of the side table. His eyes turn to Chloe’s spot in bed. He had to have a word with Amenadiel, but first … he needed to get back beside the Detective.

 

He needed to go introduce himself to the new Lieutenant.

 

\--

 

In the drive way of the home, a middle-aged man in khakis stands distraught at the end of the driveway. It is clear he has been crying for a while. His eyes are red, and inflamed and there is an air of sadness around him.

 

“Mr. Johnson?” Chloe asks as she approaches him.

 

He nods.

 

“Detective Decker,” she says, holding her hand out, “I’d like to ask you a few questions if that’s okay?”

 

He nods again and shakes her hand, “Yeah.”

 

“You told the arriving officers you spent the night elsewhere?” Chloe asks.

 

He nods, “I was at my co-worker’s house; David. We uh …,” he says blinking, trying to get the thought out of his head.

 

“We had an ongoing RPG game,” he says, tears forming in his eyes, “God, I should have been here!”

 

“RPG?” Chloe asks.

 

“Role Playing Game. We make characters, and then we play them in unique situations.”

 

“Oh,” Chloe says nodding.

 

"She always called me in the morning to say hello, but she didn't call this morning. It was unlike her," he says.

 

"So you came home to check on her," Chloe says.

 

He nods and closes his eyes tightly as if trying to block a thought out, "And then I found her."

 

“Your wife was okay with you spending the night someplace else?” Chloe asks, a tone of curiosity in her voice.

 

The man opens his eyes and turns to her, angry at the implication, “I understand it may seem odd, Detective, but … Bev and I had an agreement. I’m sure a lot of people thought it was strange, but what do they know about love? We have been married for ten years; much longer than any of our friends.”

 

He pauses for a second.

 

“We _were_ married,” he says to himself sadly.

 

“What kind of agreement?” Chloe asks, trying to keep his mind off the obvious.

 

He looks at her and thinks for a moment, his mind shifting gears. He pauses and turns to Chloe, suddenly clammed up.

 

“The kind of agreement a husband and wife make," he says, "a _marital compromise_.”

 

Chloe nods and crosses her arms, an interest beyond just her job sitting right behind her eyes.

 

"You brought in other people into the relationship?"

 

He shakes his head, "No, nothing like that."

 

"Then what?" she says, crossing her arms.

 

He sees her body language change and sighs, “Do you have a home in a neighborhood like this?” he asks.

 

She looks around and shakes her head, “No.”

 

“Then you don’t get it. People talk.”

 

Chloe turns her head to the line of onlookers standing on the other side of the street, being held back by police tape.

 

“I see,” she says, nodding slowly “You and your wife had personal secrets and you intend to keep it. Very noble.”

 

He nods.

 

She nods with him, “If you could tell us what it was, though, it might help us find who did this faster. Every detail is important.”

 

He shakes his head, “Honestly, it wasn’t anything major. It has nothing to do with ...,”

 

He pauses. Seemingly remembering why he is standing in the driveway; why his home has police caution tape around it. Another wave of sadness washes over his face.

 

“Mr. Johnson," Chloe says, her voice softening.

 

He turns to her, the grief in his eyes very apparent.

 

"My job is to seek justice for your wife," she continues, "It isn’t to judge or form opinions about your relationship. _Trust me_ , I have my own relationship issues to work out, and they are worse than anything you could ever tell me."

 

He looks at her, a shift behind his eyes tells her she almost has him.

 

" _Guaranteed_ ," she says, smiling.

 

He somehow believes her and his shoulders relax.

 

Just then Ella comes down the driveway with her evidence collection suitcase. Chloe turns to her. Ella nods to speak with her in private. She turns to the man.

 

“Give me one moment,” she says to him as Ella pulls her aside.

 

“I’m going to go back to the lab and submit my report into evidence,” Ella says to Chloe, “ I took a lot of photos so I will try to get a more clear time of death based on the discoloration around the ligature marks we found.”

 

“Ligature?” the man says, interjecting on their conversation.

 

They both turn to him.

 

“That means rope, right? Like … being tied up?”

 

Chloe squints her eyes then turns and nods to Ella. Ella leaves, and Chloe approaches the man.

 

She tilts her head, “that deal you and your wife made, wouldn’t have had anything to do with … bondage would it?”

 

He sighs and nods.

 

"You have to understand, I would have done anything she wanted. She wasn’t meant to love me. I know I was a rebound, I know I wasn’t her type, look at me? D&D nerd married to a high school cheerleader? I just … I wanted to satisfy her,” he says.

 

“The trophies in the case,” Chloe nods, remembering the big deal that was made out of them to display them so proudly.

 

He nods, “It was a wonderful reminder,” he says.

 

“Did you two go to high school together?” Chloe asks.

 

“Yeah. She didn’t pay me any mind then, obviously but … it all worked out in the end,” he says with a smile. That smile fades as he again remembers why he is standing outside.

 

“Sorta,” he says defeatedly.

 

“So, what was the compromise?” Chloe asks.

 

He sighs. He looks around then leans closer to her, lowering his voice.

 

“She had just broken up with her boyfriend when we met and … well, I had just graduated from college and landed a decent job myself. I figured, we weren’t in high school anymore and … she thought I was funny so, I took a shot. I didn’t know she was into the scene at the at time. So, when she told me I … didn’t know how to take it, but ...”

 

He turns his eyes back to the house. He knows her body is in there, in the living room; lifeless. There seems to be a heavy weight on his heart.

 

“I fell in love with her, and by that point, she could have done anything, and I would have still been head over heels.”

 

He turns back to Chloe, an apologetic look on his face, “I’m a simple guy. I like simple things. So I made a deal because I wanted to keep her happy.”

 

“What was the deal?” Chloe asks again, impatient.

 

The man turns back to her, “In exchange for game night, we would have a … night of our own. We called it play time.”

 

“Play time?” Chloe says, a line of questioning finally popping into her head, “did your … play time ever involve rope? Or restraints?” she asks.

 

The man nods, “Yes, she was very into being tied up. I was never a fan of it myself but … she had particularities, and I did my best to satisfy them.”

 

“That would explain the ligature marks on her wrists,” she says to herself.

 

Perhaps the woman was cheating and bit off more than she could chew, she thinks.

 

“Oh. No. Hanz never left a mark, it’s one of the rules.”

 

Chloe’s eyebrows raise, “You had someone else tie your wife up?”

 

The man shifts his weight on his legs, “You told me you wouldn’t judge me,” he says upset.

 

“I’m not, I’m just … I’m trying to understand,” she says.

 

“So, just to clarify,” Chloe says, trying to wrap her head around this, “you had someone come to your house and tie your wife up, and you didn’t think to mention that to the officers after they found evidence of her being tied?” Chloe asks.

 

The man shakes his head, “Hanz never came to our home, we always did it in a safe environment. Like I said, we had a deal, and it was never just her. Sometimes I got tied up to. But it was safe, it was consensual … that’s kind of the motto there.”

 

“There?” Chloe asks, “Where is there?”

 

“Wonderland,” he says, “It's a fetish club near the pier.”

 

“Right,” she says writing that tidbit down, “When was the last time you were at Wonderland?”

 

“This past weekend; Saturday.”

 

"And you were at your co-workers house last night?"

 

He nods.

 

"All night?"

 

He nods again.

 

"Can you give me his information so I can verify your whereabouts?"

 

He nods before spouting off his telephone number and address. He turns his head to the house as she finishes writing down the information. There is a sadness in his voice.

 

"I was really hoping to walk into that reunion with her on my arm," he says, turning back to Chloe, "but I guess High School is long over. It shouldn't matter but ... somehow it does."

 

She looks up at him.

 

“Reunion?” Chloe asks.

 

He nods, “Yeah, our High school is having its 15-year reunion. She was actually on the committee to plan it. You know ... you can take the cheerleader out of high school," he says.

 

“Hmm,” she says as she jots down the word Reunion in the top corner of her notepad.

 

She nods," Is there anyone that you think might have a reason to harm your wife?"

 

He thinks for a moment and shakes his head, “No, everyone loved her.”

 

Chloe nods. She doesn’t want to tell him that’s never the case.

 

“Thank you. We’re sorry for your loss,” she says offering him a pity smile.

 

“If we have any updates or need any more information we’ll contact you okay?”

 

The man nods then turns his eyes back to the house. He stares at it longingly, as if wishing for something about it to change.

 

\--

 

Later, back at the station. Ella stands near a giant screen in her lab with a tablet in her hand. Behind her, a machine wirrs as it is in the process of running a test. On the screen are blown up photos of the crime scene; particularly the victim. She turns behind her and reaches for a tape recorder. She presses play, and suddenly, the sound of her voice hits the room, barely audible over the sound of the machine.

 

“Wednesday, July, 31, 2019. 4368 FreightLand Drive. Home of Beverley and Brandon Johnson. Victim identified as Beverley Johnson. Approximately thirty-four years of age..”

 

Ella types up notes on her tablet, then turns back to the picture.

 

“Victim presents with blunt force trauma on the left anterior of skull,” the recording continues, “and ligature marks on wrists indicates victim was bound sometime before the time of death. Very little to no indications of a struggle.”

 

Ella reaches behind her and picks up a keyboard. She uses it to zoom in on the image and tilts her head to get a closer look at the wound. She narrows her eyes. She slowly walks up to it then pull up images from the crime scene to compare them side by side. An image of the table flashes on the screen, and she tilts her head in the other direction. She presses they keyboard and a picture of the ligature marks on the victim's wrist pop up. The door behind her opens, and she turns to see the Lieutenant poking her head in.

 

“Lieutenant Edwards!” she says with a smile. She reaches over and pauses the recording. The Lieutenant walks in and gently shuts the door behind her.

 

“Sorry to disturb you, Ms. Lopez, I was just checking to see how the case was going so far.”

 

Ella nods, ‘Oh, because it’s Chloe’s first day back?”

 

The Lieutenant chuckles and nods, “Yes, I just … I want to make sure she is acclimating back to homicide well.”

 

Ella nods, “Like riding a bicycle.”

 

The Lieutenant smiles and nods, “Good. Glad to hear it.”

 

Her eyes drift up to the giant 4K detailed pictures on the monitor. She looks at it oddly and frowns, “Is that the victim?” she asks.

 

Ella turns back to the screen and nods.

 

“Yeah, we are waiting for a coroners report to get a better idea of cause of death but, I think it’s safe to say it had something to do with head trauma.”

Ella switches the image to the image of the woman's head wound so the Lieutenant can see it. The Lieutenant nods and squints, she tilts her head to look at it. Ella turns back to the image and also tilts her head. They stand in silence for a moment. Ella switches back to the image of the crime scene, then to the image of the ligature marks.

 

“Huh,” The Lieutenant says.

 

“Right?” Ella says, looking at her, “there’s something not right about it. I mean, murder is never right but ..”

 

They both stand there for a moment, trying to figure out what is off about the photo.

 

"Can you pull up the table again?" the Lieutenant asks.

 

Ella nods and presses a button to pull up just the table. The Lieutenant looks at it, her brows scrunched as she is deep in thought.

 

"Hmm," she says.

 

"What?" Ella asks, "I've been looking at this for an hour now and can't figure it out. If you figure it out first, I'm going to be pissed."

 

The Lieutenant smiles.

 

"Good work Ms. Lopez. Keep me posted," she says as she turns to open the door to exit the lab. As she opens the door, she sees a tall man in a suit descending the staircase. He has an air about him that screams endless ego and pride.

 

This must be Mr. Morningstar, she thinks to herself.

 

"I'll leave you to it, Ms. Lopez," she says as she exits.

 

"Wait, did you figure it out?" she asks, as the door closes behind the Lieutenant. Ella grunts in frustration then turns back to the screen. She looks at the images again and imagines what someone would see if they looked at these images for the first time. Suddenly, her eyes notice something she didn't see before. She zooms in to the table and near the bottom of it is a sticker. She can't make out the logo but recognizes it as a company that makes cheap furniture.

She grabs her keyboard and juxtaposes the table and the image of the head wound. 

"It's the table," she says to herself.

 

\--

 

Chloe descends the steps down into the bullpen before casually strolling over to her desk. She drops the notepad she had been scribbling with onto her desk and sighs. It was weird doing this alone.

She takes a deep breath and catches the vague touch of a familiar scent. She lifts her head up quickly and looks around the room before her eyes land on a familiar set of broad shoulders and coifed dark hair sitting inside the new Lieutenants office. Her heart races and smile plasters itself across her face.

She tries to break it, but even in her serious face the corners of her lips remained curled. She sits in her seat and unlocks her computer. She begins typing, pretending not to notice him, but she can’t stop thinking that he is there; right there. Her eyes glance over to the lieutenant’s office again, what are they talking about?

 

\--

 

“Mr. Morningstar,” the Lieutenant says as she flips through his file. She shakes her head and frowns before looking up at him to see the charming, handsome smile of his.

 

“Mrs. Edwards, is it?” he says, pointing to a placard on her desk that reads “Lt. Edwards,”

 

She smiles at him and sits back, “ _Lieutenant_ Edwards as it so happens, Mr. Morningstar.”

 

He smiles. He did like a challenge.

 

“I understand you’re interested in being placed back with the department as a consultant.”

 

“Yes, “he says frankly, “I think the department could benefit greatly from my particular skillset.”

 

“Skillset?” she asks, already annoyed by his demeanor, “Just what is your particular _skillset?_ From my understanding, you’re a businessman and a bar owner. Please enlighten me as to what use the LAPD would have for loud music and scantily clad women.”

 

He laughs to himself, “I have a unique ability to draw out a person’s deepest desires." He smiles, turning on that certain charm that would make her putty in his arms.

She nods and squints her eyes.

 

“I see. And that would be under … interrogation? Because according to your file,” she says, leaning back to peek at his file again, “interrogation is the area we’ve gotten the _most_ reports about impropriety.”

 

Lucifer sits back curiously in his chair.

Why didn't that work on her?

 

His eyes narrow as he looks at her, "You aren't related to the detective are you?" he asks.

 

She looks at him oddly, "Who?"

 

"Chloe, are you related to her?"

 

The Lieutenant looks at him oddly, "No? Why would I be related to Detective Decker?"

 

Lucifer's eyebrows furrow and he looks away. _Then why didn't that work?_

 

He turns back to her, “You don’t want me back in this department, do you?” he asks.

 

She sighs and sits back, tossing his file on the desk.

 

“Mr. Morningstar. I appreciate all you’ve done – _or think you’ve done_ – for this department but … I can’t put you back on duty with this record. What I want for the department just ... doesn't match what you can offer."

 

Lucifer stands up slowly, a deep smile coming to his face as he leans over her desk and locks eyes with her.

 

“Then what do you want, Ms. Edwards? What do you _truly_ desire?”

 

She looks into his eyes, a softness falling over her as her muscles relax.

 

“I …,” she begins.

 

“Hmm?” he says, “come on then. If you don't want me, then what do you want? Money? Power?”

 

“I … just want to feel happy,” she says, sadness falling over her eyes.

 

Lucifer stands back, not at all expecting that. He can offer her everything else, but ... happiness? That's too vague.

 

“My ex broke up with me a few years ago," she continues, her eyes dropping down as she remembers that feeling she only allows herself to feel at home, "and I’ve tried to move on, but I’m just .. I’m not over her,” she says.

 

His eyebrows raise.

 

“Oh, a lesbian,” he says the surprise in his voice.

 

He supposes that is why she hasn’t picked up on any of the signals he’s been sending her. Though, to be fair, that’s never been an issue before.

Wait, _was that an issue now?_

He turns his head in confusion. Had he lost his mojo?

 

Suddenly, she snaps out of it and realizes what she just said. She looks at him, her sadness overshadowed by anger.

 

He sees his and frowns, “I suppose this means I am not back on the job,” he says.

 

She sits back in her chair, suddenly blocked off to anything he has to say.

 

“Mr. Morningstar, I’m looking to add a strong consultant to my repertoire. Not a liability. If you can convince me you won’t become a liability, I will be more than happy to reinstate you. Until then … you should probably get out of my office.”

 

He nods and inhales through his teeth. Yeah, _he probably deserved that._

 

He heads to the door and steps out into the bullpen. His eyes instinctively go to Chloe's desk only to find her looking at him; a smile comes over her face. It's a lovely welcoming that makes him smile in response.

 

“So?” she asks as he approaches her desk.

 

“It seems I may have done more harm than good," he says as he calmly as he takes a seat

 

Her smile turns into a frown and she slouches.

 _Right._ She shakes her head, why did she tell him to visit her? He _clearly_ needed a chaperone.

 

She watches him as he stares out into nothingness, seemingly trying to find another way.

 

His cologne radiates off of him, and she closes her eyes to take in its scent. It’s warm and inviting. _She wants to be invited_.

She opens her eyes and slowly traces her vision up his body, remembering how he looked the previous night when he had disrobed before climbing into bed with her. They could have done it then, they _should_ have done it then.

 

Her eyes move up to his, and she finds him looking back at her. Their eyes meet. She flushes and goes back to the file on her desk.

Lucifer’s eyes squint in curiosity. Was she … _was she just thinking about it?_

 

“Anyway, it’s probably best we take things slow anyway," she says, “you know ... with the case. With it being my first time back and all I need to … just ... _focus_.”

 

She says that as her eyes try very hard not to look at him. He still stares at her, an intrigue behind his eyes.

She looks at him out of the corner of her eyes, and he tilts his head, a look of shock plastered on his face.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

He opens his mouth to say something when Ella comes out of her lab with a report in her hand.

 

“Looks like we got a cause of death on our -,” she looks up to see Lucifer staring intently at Chloe.

 

“Lucifer!” she yells as she runs and drapes her arms around his shoulders. He is knocked out of whatever thoughts he was processing and turns to her.

 

He pats her arms gently, a discomfort across his face that is softer than it used to be; like he’s getting used to it.

 

“Yes, it’s nice to see you too, Ms. Lopez,” he says.

 

She separates from him and smiles, “Man, it was so _boring_ with you gone! No Offense Chloe.”

 

He turns his eyes back to Chloe, a look of intrigue still behind them, “I imagine so,” he says, his eyes never leaving hers.

 

Her necks heats up. _He’s looking at her like that again._

His eyebrows furrow. _She’s thinking about it again._

 

Ella’s eyes ping pong and forth between them.

 

“Am I … interrupting something?” she asks.

 

“No!” Chloe says with a fake smile, “What did you find?”

 

Her eyes slide to Lucifer again, he’s still looking at her. She turns back to Ella, intent on only paying attention to her.

 

Ella begins to speak, not really convinced she didn’t just walk into something.

 

“Nail scrapings tested negative for any foreign DNA so, whatever fight she put up she didn’t scratch hard enough.”

 

Chloe nods her head.

 

“Okay,” she says, “Uhm … did they find the rope yet?”

 

Ella shakes her head, “Not yet, but they are canvassing nearby stores that sell rope or any binding material with the diameter that matches the ligature marks.”

 

Chloe nods, "Did we get an ETA on the coroner's report?”

 

Ella nods, "I pulled up strings, and they can get it to us in 32- 48 hours. So either tomorrow or the day after."

 

Chloe nods, "We still have some leads to follow so ... it won't be wasted time. Once we get that official cause of death, we can move forward with that."

 

Ella, "Speaking of, I think we may have to rule out accidental death."

 

Chloe looks at her oddly, "Well yeah, I would hope so. She was tied up after all."

 

"Right, but ... the table in their living room came from Randy's discount furniture," she says.

 

Chloe looks at her oddly, " They seemed well-off. Why would they need discount furniture?"

 

Ella shrugs, "I don't know but ... that furniture is cheap. I mean, super cheap. There's no way it would survive a fall like that and cause that much damage."

 

Chloes nods, "So the table didn't cause the head wound?"

 

Ella shakes her head, "I won't know more until the coroners report comes back but ... I think we need to be looking for a murder weapon."

 

Chloe sighs a heavy sigh and looks back at her watch.

 

"Okay, I'll call them and have them look closer for a weapon."

 

Ella nods and turns walk back into the lab. Lucifer turns back to Chloe with a smile. She seems to be intently staring at her screen. His smile fades.

 

She was just thinking about it, _right_? He hadn't imagined that?

 

He turns his head to survey the station. It feels like it’s been forever since he was last here; it was oddly comforting.

 

He turns to see Dan’s desk empty and his head tilts curiously. It is completely clear, like he hasn’t been there for a few days. He looks back on Chloe. She seems busy working.

 

“Where’s Daniel?” he asks.

 

Chloe looks at Lucifer, then across to Dan’s desk, then back to Lucifer.

She frowns.

 

“He’s on leave. He just … needed some time to destress.”

 

“Huh,” Lucifer says curiously.

 

Chloe goes back to what she was doing, her mind on something else now. Lucifer doesn’t even notice. He just stares at her, trying to think of something to say.

Usually, with women he was attracted to, he could just turn on his charm, and they’d end up in his bed. With her, it was always an uphill battle, and he liked the challenge. Now it seemed he had finally reached that summit and suddenly ... he has no idea what to do next.

He had her attention and her affection but …how did he keep it?

_She was just thinking about it._

How would he get her past thinking?

 

“Well,” he says. Chloe turns her attention back to him.

 

“I suppose since there isn’t much I can do here, I better go make sure my affairs are still in order.”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“You don’t have to go, you can keep me company,” she says.

 

He smiles. He likes that she wants him to stay.

 

“I’d love to darling, but I have some things I need to attend to. Beginning with purchasing a new mattress.”

 

Chloe nods, “Okay,” she says, feeling stupid for suggesting that.

 

He nods and begins to leave.

 

“Lucifer?” she says.

 

He turns to her.

 

“We will figure something out,” she says.

 

He doesn’t know if she is talking about the department, or them. _Perhaps both?_

 


	5. Old Dog, Same Tricks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer confronts Amenadiel about his squatting, Chloe receives good news, Linda has a suggestion for Lucifer and Ezria makes a friend.

Amenadiel rolls over in Lucifer’s bed before adjusting back into a comfortable position. He yawns and exhales as his body relaxes again. He understands why Lucifer is always in such a good mood, this bed is comfortable. It could also have to do with the nightly rendezvous with strange women.

He closes his eyes, intent on falling back to sleep.

He lays there momentarily before he realizes that falling back asleep isn't an option. He had woken himself up.

He groans and turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling.

He was hungry. He thinks about the place with the great breakfast burritos and imagines he might go there. The one benefit of going to the Silver City was how it reignited the interest in food; it was the unintended fast.

  
He turns his eyes to the clock on the nearby side table and groans. It was already 1pm; they wouldn’t have breakfast burritos anymore.

  
He sits up and stretches, letting out a groan as his eyes shut then slowly open. His eyes immediately go to the chair across from the bed where a calm – _perhaps too calm_ – Lucifer sits; waiting.

 

He sits, one leg is crossed over the other. It bounces sinisterly, like the tail of a prone cat. One arm sits patiently in his lap while other clings to a small glass of bourbon. He casually brings the glass to his lips.

 

“Well,” he says, “I was beginning to wonder if you were dead, but it seems my luck has once again failed me.”

 

Amenadiel sits there, his eyes wide.

 

“Luci!” he says surprised, “I … I didn’t expect you to come back so soon.”

 

“That is painfully obvious,” he says as he stands up, “You’ve managed to somehow both destroy my penthouse and sully my mattress. _Bravo_. Now please do explain what you are doing squatting in my penthouse.”

 

Amenadiel wraps the sheets around his body and stands up. Lucifer’s eyes lower down onto his covered torso and narrow. Then they widen, and a flame rises just behind his eyes.

 

“Brother, please don’t tell me you are nude.”

 

“I … I,” Amenadiel begins to say.

 

Lucifer scoffs in disgust and descends the two steps into his living room as he grumbles to himself.

 

“You had better start explaining yourself Amenadiel,” he says.

 

Amenadiel looks at him, and it is clear there was no skirting around the issue. He had been caught with his literal pants down.

Sure, he and Lucifer never had the best of relationships, but things had been looking better.

Yes, Lucifer was stubborn and sometimes the best methods of helping him usually involved subverting his plans or goading him into action. But ... he was tired of that old song and dance. He and Lucifer never had the best relationship, sure, but ... they had something.

He watches Lucifer as he angrily pours himself another glass at the bar. He was still him, but … he did look different.

Was it because of Father’s plan? Or was it because he had witnessed him cry next to Chloe’s unconscious body. Was it because he had stared into his eyes and for a brief moment, he saw his brother – Samael – and understood the pain he was going through.

 

He turns his head briefly to the wall by the bed, where a fist-sized hole still sits a few feet above the lamp.

Lucifer was in love with a human, and Amenadiel knew that feeling all too well. In fact, maybe Lucifer was the only one that would ever understand that feeling.

 

He turns back to Lucifer. If this is really it if this is the last time he would see his brother as an Angel … maybe he should give him the chance to understand.

Maybe he shouldn’t treat him like the stubborn Lucifer he had known. It was clear he had changed and was currently changing.

_Maybe that had changed too?_

 

He relaxes his muscles and takes a deep breathe, “I was summoned to the Silver City,” he begins.

 

“Oh? “Lucifer says nodding, an annoyed smile coming to his face.

 

 _Of course_ this had something to do with Father, he thinks, it always does.

 

“Unbelievable. Is this yet another plight to get me back to hell? You make my place so unlivable I have no choice but to leave? You do know I can just buy another place, right?” he says, tossing back the whiskey and pouring another glass.

 

“No, that was not my intention,” Amenadiel says, “You know I’ve stopped that fool’s errand.”

 

“Good, because I’d hate to reject your advances yet again but – quite frankly – you should be used to it by now.”

 

Amenadiel looks at him for a moment and pauses. His eyes narrow.

 

Yes, something has changed. Something has changed so much it’s made him upset.

 

“Why are you so angry?” he asks, “This isn’t just about the penthouse is it?”

 

Lucifer looks at him and pauses, the fire in his eyes dulls, and he scoffs.

 

Amenadiel turns and gathers his clothing off the floor of the bedroom. He steps into Lucifer’s bathroom to dress.

 

“I’m not angry," Lucifer says, sighing, "I’m’ just …,” he pauses.

 

He was worried.

No, he was _afraid_.

 

The whole world was topsy turvy, and he had no reference point to make it go back the way it was. It reminded him of …

He closes his eyes. He didn’t want to think about it.

 

Amenadiel was right, it wasn’t about the penthouse.

_It was about everything else._

His ash was missing.

Amenadiel had forced him out of his penthouse, and the detective was showing him affection he hadn’t expected.

Even more, he didn’t know what to do with it. Only one of those he could tackle. Amenadiel shouldn't be in his penthouse but ... perhaps the detective shouldn't love him either.

He had shown her affection that was detached from a physical release. _He didn't know what to do with that._

Sex he could understand. It was a language he was fluent in. He could make any woman he wanted quiver beneath him within minutes, and they wouldn’t leave his presence without singing his praises as a lover.

But her … she wanted more than just his body. _What if he couldn’t deliver?_

 

Lucifer turns to this bar, his eyes downward. He looks deep in thought.

 

“Are you not the least bit curious about why I was summoned?”

 

Amenadiel asks, stepping out of the bathroom while pulling a t-shirt over his head.

 

Lucifer turns to him, then back to the bar. He pulls out a stool near the bar and climbs onto it. He picks up his drink and swirls it around for a bit. Yes, he was frustrated, in more ways than one. Having his brother squat in his apartment wasn't helping.

 

Amenadiel’s eyebrows furrow. Yes, there was something off about Lucifer.

 

Lucifer sees the way Amenadiel is looking at him and grows impatient, “Fine. What disaster awaits us this time? No doubt some grand scheme to make my life a living …”

 

Lucifer pauses.

 

“No wait, that was already done,” he says chuckling to himself. He turns to Amenadiel who isn’t laughing.

 

“Well, go on,” he says, annoyed.

 

“Father said you were changing,” he says.

 

Lucifer’s eyes raise in interest.

 

“He said this change would make you … lose your grasp on the celestial.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head and looks around the apartment, “I thought I … I thought I could at least delay it … Maybe remind you of your usual sinful ways but … It may already be too late.”

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes, “There is nothing sinful about wanting a good life, Amenadiel. Besides, this is just another one of his mind games. You should know better by now than to get involved.“

 

Amenadiel shakes his head and approaches Lucifer, “I don’t think so, not this time, You’ve already been cleansed.” he says.

 

Lucifer raises the glass to his lip and pauses. He turns to Amenadiel.

 

“Pardon?”

 

Amenadiel steps closer to Lucifer, “He said you would be cleansed in body and soul, then surrender and then …”

 

Amenadiel stops. He doesn’t want to finish that sentence.

 

“Well, spit it out!” Lucifer says.

 

“You wouldn’t have a place in heaven or hell. You’d be … lost forever.”

 

Lucifer laughs. His laughter tails off into a singular note as he brings the glass up to his lips. He sees himself in the mirror and can tell that behind that bravado is an intense look of worry. He takes a sip and turns to Amenadiel.

 

“Oh, come on brother, we both know I have no interest in the Silver City. Do you truly believe I care if I lose my security deposit?”

 

“That includes Hell, Luci, “ he says flatly.

 

Lucifer gulps down the rest of his drink, now annoyed.

 

“Good. If my recent trip is anything to judge by, it works out for everyone involved.”

 

“Aren’t you worried what that means?” he asks.

 

“No,” Lucifer says, angrily slamming the glass onto the table, “Why are you?”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “Because someone has to look out for you!”

 

The fire in Lucifer’s eyes return, and he sets the glass down on his table. The penthouse is dipped into a silence that is accompanied by thick tension.

 

“Save it, Amenadiel,” he says, “It’s a little too late to play the brotherly role. If you cared that much, you should have said something when I was cast out.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “This again? Luci, don’t blame me for your actions. It’s been a literal millennium since then, when will you learn to take some responsibility for what you’ve done, “he says.

 

“When he takes responsibility for what he did!” Lucifer yells.

 

The penthouse is deathly silent as they stare each other down. Lucifer’s eyes narrow.

 

“But he never will. You and I both know that,” he says turning back to his drink.

 

Amenadiel has no response to that.

 

“You should leave Brother,” Lucifer says solemnly.

 

Amenadiel scoffs. He walks to the elevator and presses the down button.

 

“I’m here to help you,” Amenadiel says, stepping to the elevator, “Whether you want me to or not.”

 

The elevator closes, and Lucifer turns to his still messy apartment. He doesn’t react, he just turns back to the bar and drinks. His sits there alone for a moment. It doesn’t take long for his mind to go to her.

He merely wanted a place to stay the night, but she had invited him into her bedroom.

She had spoken to him like there was nothing odd about him and her in the same bed. She had greeted him with a soft kiss and kept his shirt beneath her pillow. He only had one goal with her, to keep her interest; to have her choose him.

It seems she had chosen him, and he had no idea what to do now. He sighs. Then it clicks.

The doctor might have an answer for him. He turns to his apartment and scoffs. They would need time to clean and get rid of that mattress anyway. He takes one last gulp and reaches for his phone. He begins dialing a number.

He heads towards the elevator, grabbing his jacket off the end of the bar to reveal the shirt he had pulled from Chloe’s bed.

“Yes, I was wondering how quickly you could replace a mattress for me?” he asks into the phone as he presses the button to the elevator. The door dings and opens.

He steps in.

“Excellent,” he says as the doors close.

\--

Ezria slowly walks through the dim and ash ridden rows of cells, pausing every few cells to peek into them; catching a glimpse at all the things mortals beat themselves up over.

The first one he smiles to himself at how ridiculous this guilt thing is.

The second one he furrows his brow in horror at the imagination mortals have on the ways they could be punished.

The third one he spends a little more time watching, however, and finds himself saddened by the reality of the situation.

They were choosing to punish themselves. He had no choice; no free will, and this is what they did with it?

 

He scoffs and decides that is enough watching for now. He walks to the end of the row and is back into a massive pathway where demons walk and talk.

Carts filled with amputated – then probably regenerated – body parts roll towards a massive kitchen area. He sighs and turns the opposite way, towards the giant tower that remains the heart of it all. Hell was a lot of things, boring was one of them.

 

At least in his cell, he had time to let his imagination run wild. Here, with the constant hustle and bustle of demons doing their chores, torturing humans and having massive orgies, his brain didn't have a second to reflect or think. And so it didn't; so he was bored.

He walks past a building that is no doubt the home to a few demons. Suddenly, he stops in his tracks; intrigue just behind his eyes. Something has caught his attention.

He backtracks until he is at the opening of a tiny alleyway that – like most alleyways here – is littered with bones. At the end of this alley there is a rock formation with a dark - partially covered - doorway at its base.

He tilts his head curiously then looks around before entering the alleyway and approaching the doorway.

 

Cautiously, he snakes through the doorway that opens into a dimly lit rocky pathway. He steps forward, crushing small pieces of rock beneath the weight of his feet.

Eventually, the pathway widens until it opens up onto a lagoon. Beyond it, another rocky path that leads to a much larger cold water lake.

He approaches the edge of the water and kneels before it. It’s dark in here, with the only sources of light coming from tiny holes through the rock formation that covers the large lagoon and from the pathway he came from.

 

Slowly, his eyes adjust to the darkness. It is a familiarity that soothes him. He looks back down at the water where he can now make out the reflection of himself in the water.

He reaches forward and disturbs the otherwise placid surface of the water, sending ripples through his reflection. The water turns murky in this area as ash that has settled to the bottom is disturbed.

 

“It’s cold,” a voice nearby says, “ and no amount of body heat will change that. Trust me, we’ve tried.”

 

He turns to see a young demon reclined on a nearby ledge, his knees up and his hands cradling something metallic. It reflects what little light there is in this cavern.

 

“Are there mortals down there?” he asks, turning his head back to the water.

 

The young demon shakes his head, “Out there, sure,” he says, pointing to the giant lake just beyond this rocky area, “but not in here. The door is too small for most to fit through.

 

“Hmm,” Ezria says. He turns to look at the demon, to gauge his appearance, but all he can see is light reflecting off the object in his hand.

 

“What is that?” Ezria asks as he stands up.

 

The young man sits up and waves the object in his right hand.

 

“It’s a harmonica. I traded it with one of the crossroads demons.”

 

Ezria slowly approaches him.

 

“A harmonica?” he asks.

 

“Yes, it’s an instrument. It makes music. See?”

 

He pulls the harmonica up to his mouth and begins to play through a series of inhales and exhales.

Ezria tilts his head and cocks an eyebrow. This harmonica didn’t sound very good.

The young man stops and smiles. He sees Ezria’s facial expressions and frowns.

 

‘I didn’t say I was any good, just that I had one,” he says, smiling.

 

Ezria nods.

 

“Want to try?” he asks, handing him the instrument.

 

Ezria looks at him oddly. Demons aren’t usually this friendly, or show interest in anything besides coming up with ways to torture.

Unless …. perhaps playing this instrument poorly is its own form of torture.

It’s creative. _He likes it._

 

Ezria reaches out and takes it, he inspects it for a moment, then turns back to the young demon.

 

“What do they call you?” he asks, turning around and approaching the water.

 

“Calmos,” he says, sliding off the rock ledge and following Ezria, wary of what he might do with his harmonica.

 

Ezria approaches the water and kneels, watching his reflection. He looks down at the instrument then places it to his lips, turning his eyes back to the reflection.

In one deep breath, he blows really hard, and it makes the harmonica squeal a note that sounds nothing like music.

Calmos laughs to himself. Ezria looks down at the harmonica and smiles.

 

He turns back to his reflection and sees the smile on his face. Suddenly he frowns and stands up.

 

He turns to Calmos and hands him the harmonica. Here, in a more lit area and with Calmos standing next to him, he gets a better view of what this demon looks like.

 

Ezria notes that he is tall, almost as tall as him. His hair is light and wavy and flows down his head to end at his shoulders. He is clearly younger than the other demons, perhaps a few hundred years old. In human years, he imagines he would be in his mid 20's.

His shoulders are broad and no doubt have carried many things from one cavern to the next, yet he was still tiny and lean. By comparison Ezria looked sickly, but he surmises this demon would too had he spent his time locked in a cage.

 

“Calmos,” Ezria says, his eyes roaming across the demon. Calmos notices and curiously furrows his brow.

 

“And you are Ezria, Son of God,” he says.

 

Ezria turns his glance back to him and nods, “That I am.”

 

Calmos nods and turns to walk back to the ledge on which he was sitting. Once there, he slides back into his comfortable spot. He leans back against the wall and thumbs the harmonica in his hands.

Ezria turns back to the lagoon.

 

“So, what are you doing here?” he asks, “don’t you have any duties to perform? Torture humans, prepare their flesh, and so on?”

 

Calmos shrugs, “I carry the water,” he says.

 

Ezria looks at him oddly, “You what?”

 

“I carry the water. Every so often, I carry the water from one spot to another. It’s not difficult.”

 

“Okay, do you not have water to carry?” Ezria asks.

 

Calmos smiles, “Water’s already been carried. Tanks won’t need water for a while.”

 

Ezria scoffs and turns back to the lagoon, “Isn’t that a fledglings job?”

 

Calmos smiles, “We don’t have fledglings down here. Our young ones don’t have wings.”

 

“Right, well isn’t that a job for one of the younger demons?”

 

Calmos sighs and looks down at the harmonica in his hands, “Perhaps, but … I like this job. The other jobs are too …”

 

Ezria turns to him, a curiosity forms in his eyes as he sees Calmos trying to find the words.

 

“Too …,” he continues, running through his vocabulary.

 

“ _Demonic?_ ” Ezria says.

 

Calmos turns to him and stares, trying to gauge his line of questioning.

 

“Aren’t you a demon?” Ezria says, “You’re supposed to revel in the punishment of mortals.”

 

Calmos looks back down at his harmonica.

 

Ezria turns to him fully, a deep intrigue over his face, “but you don’t … do you?”

 

Calmos looks up at him, fear in his eyes.

 

Suddenly there is a deep thud near the entrance to the cave, and a deep voice yells, “Calmos! Water in the pits!”

 

“Okay!” he screams back.

 

He stuffs the harmonica quickly into a leather pouched draped across his body and stands up.

 

“Time to get back to work,” he says relieved as he reaches down and picks up two empty buckets stacked within each other on the ground by his feet.

  
He approaches the lagoon and submerges them both until they are full. Then, he stands and carefully carries them down the pathway.

Ezria follows, a deep curiosity in his stride.

 

Once he reaches the doorway, he kneels and puts the buckets through first before squeezing himself through the opening.

 

On the other side, he attaches the buckets to a yolk, then crouches, draping the yolk over his shoulders. Ezria snakes through the opening and watches him as he slowly stands up; the buckets balancing easily on his shoulders.

 

Clamos turns to Ezria and nods a goodbye.

 

He begins to walk off before he pauses and turns to Ezria.

 

"I deliver water where the young ones can't or won't go," he says. He catches eyes with Ezria as if to suggest he knows nothing about how things work down here.

 

Once he's imparted how important his job is, he turns and leaves.

He doesn’t say anything more, but Ezria has a feeling he will see him again.

Hell is boring, but a harmonica wielding demon is … _interesting._

 

\--

 

Linda takes one look around her office to see if she is forgetting anything before heading to the door. She reaches her hand out to open it, but before she can, the door swings open and Lucifer stands in the doorway. They look at each other and both pause.

His eyes roam over her body and move from an interest in seeing her to confusion. She is wearing what appears to be workout clothing and has a yoga mat tucked under her arm.

 

“Lucifer!” she says, surprised to see him.

 

“It seems I caught you on your way out,” he says. He looks at his watch and scrunches his eyes. _Did he arrive too early?_

 

“You haven’t been coming to your sessions so … I’ve been using the time to catch up on my workouts. But … please, do come in,” she says, stepping out of the way so he can enter.

 

He steps into her office and unbuttons the button in his blazer before sitting comfortably on the sofa. Linda closes her office door and sets her mat and clothing bag on her desk before sitting directly across from him.

 

“So,” she asks, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Any new developments before we be-”

 

“I think I’ve lost my mojo,” he says.

 

Linda pauses.

 

“Okay, what … what does that mean?”

 

He sighs in frustration, “I was hoping you could tell me. You're the doctor! Use some of your ... psychology on me and make it better.”

 

“O ... kay,” Linda says, forgetting how troublesome Lucifer could be as a patient, “Let’s start from the beginning. Why do you think your … _mojo,_ is missing?”

 

He sighs and leans back in his chair, “This morning I attempted to seduce the new Lieutenant to get my spot back alongside the detective, only she didn’t go for it – which is odd. Nevermind the fact that she’s into women because that’s never been a problem before.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Linda says, jotting down the fact that he tried to seduce the new Lieutenant.

 

“And then … on the way over here, I attempted to get a coffee and the barista informed me it would be four dollars!”

 

Linda squints her eyes.

 

“How is that evidence for losing your ... mojo?” she asks.

 

“Darling, I had to pay. I mean, I always do pay … stimulate the economy and such but, she didn’t even try to offer it to me for free.”

 

“So, you’re upset you didn’t get special treatment?” Linda asks, hoping it will sound to him as ridiculous as it sounds to her.

 

He shakes his head and leans forward, “You require more proof? Okay, I tried to charm a random woman on the street, just to verify my hypothesis and nothing. She just looked at me like a … pervert.”

 

Linda raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. _He is a pervert._

 

“Look, Lucifer … perhaps you aren’t seeing this for what it really is. It’s a blessing in disguise. If you and Chloe are going to pursue something, maybe you don’t need your … _mojo_ , getting in the way.”

 

Lucifer pauses and looks at her. He sits back as if shocked by what he hears.

 

“You’ve spoken with the detective about us?” he asks.

 

Linda realizes she’s accidentally let the cat out of the bag that she knows about Chloe and him.

 

“I … _may_ have had a few conversations with her about some things. I got her side of the story, maybe … you should tell me yours.”

 

He shifts in his seat and allows his eyes to trail off as he thinks.

 

“Yes, well … the detective and I …,” he begins.

 

What about him and her? They hadn’t really spoken about what he said since he returned, nor have they spoken about the incident. Yet, he did sleep in her bed, and he did catch her thinking about it.

He pauses. She was _actually_ thinking about it.

 

“What about you and Chloe?” Linda asks.

 

He turns to her and lets out a large sigh before sitting back in the couch and adjusting his suit jacket.

 

“I don’t quite know. I caught her thinking about it today…” he says.

 

“It?” she asks.

 

“Sex. I caught her thinking about sex ... _with me_ ,” he says.

 

He turns his head, thinking out loud, ‘Maybe my mojo has somehow reversed itself.”

 

Linda scrunches her face, and tilts her head, “Why do you sound upset by that? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

 

He stares off into the distance, lost in his own train of thought.

 

“Why don’t you talk to her about it?” Linda says, “It’s clear Chloe, and you are entering into some type of relationship. Communication is key to making these things work.”

 

He shakes his head, “I promised her I would wait until she was ready to talk about it,” he says.

 

He turns to her, his eyes running over her body as if to gauge how she might respond.

 

“I ... told her I loved her,” he says.

 

She nods and smiles. He squints his eyes.

 

“But you knew that already,” he says as more of a statement than a question.

 

She smiles, “I’ve known for a very long time. It’s part of my job. I’m glad you finally figured it out though. That’s a huge … huge step in the process. Allowing yourself to feel love.”

 

“Yes, well … now I don’t know what to do. Sex, I understand. Pure, raw, carnal entwinement I get, but these feelings. How am I supposed to talk to her? What do we talk about? How many more times will we sleep in the same bed? Clothed no less?”

 

He sighs at his frustration.

 

“Does it always have to be about sex?” Linda asks, not understanding his frustration but understanding where it comes from.

 

He looks at her oddly, “Of course not.”

 

“Then why do you sound so angry at sleeping in the same bed with her and not having sex?” she asks.

 

He shakes his head. Of course, Linda wouldn’t understand.

 

“Or is it something more than that and you are using sex as a scapegoat?”

 

He looks at her and sighs, “If you must know, it’s been three weeks since I’ve last been with a woman. I think this is purely about sex.”

 

“That’s not true, you and Chloe-,” she says before stopping herself. She shouldn’t have said that out loud. She closes her eyes tightly as is bracing for impact.

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes and sits forward. Did they talk about everything? Was there nothing left to the imagination?

 

“You … you spoke with the Detective about the incident?”

 

Linda sighs.

 

“Yes,” she says, cautious to not give away any more information, “Chloe has been coming to me to work through some emotions.”

 

“And she spoke with you about … the incident?” he repeats.

 

Linda tilts her head, “Why do you keep referring to it as _the incident_?” she asks.

 

“She won’t even speak to me about it,” Lucifer says, sitting back, his eyes drifting off into nothingness.

 

“You’ve been wanting to sleep with Chloe for a very long time, why are you suddenly upset by it? You won’t even call it what it was,” Linda says.

 

Lucifer’s eyes turn to her. He’s looking at her, but she can tell he’s looking past her. He’s stuck on something in his head.

 

“Lucifer!” she says, snapping her fingers. He snaps out of it and looks at her then sighs.

 

“Yes, well. It’s not how I wanted it to happen, now is it?” he says, “Of anyone she deserves a night of pure unadulterated pleasure but … I just couldn’t.”

 

“And why not?” Linda asks.

 

A curious look falls over his face, “I don’t know.”

 

Linda sighs and decides to stick a pin in that particular line of questioning.

 

“Okay, so let’s get back to this three-week thing. Why do you not consider your interaction with Chloe to be sex?”

 

“Well because no one finished of course,” Lucifer says.

 

“Oh, so it's more so three weeks of not having an orgasm and not three weeks of not being with a woman.”

 

“Those two are one in the same, Doctor,” he says as if not understanding why she was separating the two.

 

“Right. Okay, so why do you think it’s been three weeks?” she asks, grabbing her clipboard.

 

Lucifer shrugs and leans back to get comfortable in his chair.

 

“I don’t know. I suppose between saving the city and protecting the Detective … I just I haven’t had much time.”

 

“Or interest?” Linda suggests.

 

He looks at her and scoffs.

 

“Oh, I always have the interest Doctor. Certainly, you can attest that I am always up to the task,” he says, that grin on his face.

 

She cringes visibly and pauses, “And you’re deflecting.”

 

His smile drops, “Am not,” he says.

 

“Then answer the question. This whole time thing is not true. I know you, and you would make time for it if it were important. So, that leads me to believe you had the time, but not the interest."

 

"Are you suggesting I am lying?" Lucifer says, a deep offense behind his words. It's clear by his body language he is starting to clam up.

 

"No. You aren't a liar, I know that," Linda says.

 

He seems to relax a bit by her admission.

 

"I'm just saying, have you been interested in sex, at all, in the last three weeks?”

 

“Of course.”

 

“Then why haven’t you acted on your interest?”

 

He sighs and turns his eyes to the window.

 

Of course, he wanted her. All he’s ever done is thought about her since the moment he laid eyes on her.

 

But … she wasn’t ready. He turns his eyes back to Linda, she watches him; understanding he is going through a mental process in his head.

She continues the line of questioning. Even if she doesn't get an answer, he will.

 

“Is it possible your emotional breakthrough might be exactly because you had a brief moment in which you didn’t use sex as an escape? You were … forced to deal with how you felt about Chloe.”

 

He looks at her, scrunching his brows.

 

“Pardon? I do no such thing,” he says.

 

She laughs to herself, “You absolutely do,” she says.

 

“I enjoy sex, who in their right mind wouldn’t? Especially when so many beautiful women give so freely. You included if I remember correctly,” he says.

 

Linda rolls her eyes and sighs. She looks at him for a moment, trying to figure out how to reach him.

 

“Lucifer, people in a healthy mental space don’t use sex as an escape.”

 

He looks at her oddly, “I don’t use sex as an escape. I can do what I please. What would I be escaping from? ”

 

She sighs. Maybe she was pushing too much. She thought that his admission to Chloe might have shaken loose some sense but, now she sees – sitting across from Lucifer after weeks of not having contact with him – he’s probably more difficult than ever.

 

That only spurs her on though. She knows from experience it becomes harder the closer she gets to the root of the problem.

 

She leans forward, crossing her shoulders over her clipboard.

 

"We've ... spoken about your fall a few times, but I'd like to go more in-depth with it. I think not talking about certain aspects of it may have had some lasting effects on -"

 

“I think the real question is,“ he surmises as he sits forward, “I’ve been back for hours now, and not one woman has propositioned me. Don’t you think that’s strange.”

 

She looks at him. He interrupted what she was saying for that?

 

“Lucifer,” she says, trying to get back on track.

 

"Because I find it odd," he says, looking away, his mind now solely fixated on this, "the ash is gone and now this."

 

“I think you are way too focused on the physical. I think you’ve made some very important progress," she says.

 

She watches him try and figure it out in his head. He's completely jumped ship, she can tell. She's not going to get him back on task until this mojo thing is solved. She sighs.

 

"Perhaps you need to remove your focus from sex. It might help to further put things into perspective.”

 

He turns to her, fully annoyed by her suggestion.

 

“How is that going to help me figure out why no one has had sex with me today? What if I’ve lost my mojo?”

 

She looks at him oddly, “Lucifer, you can’t lose that … that’s like … your thing?”

 

“Well I got my wings back, I’m sure if father really wanted to piss me off, he’d take away my manhood."

 

"Perhaps this is punishment for ripping Abel to shreds," he says, almost as a thought to himself.

 

She looks at him oddly, “You mean .. your mojo?

 

“Hmm?” he says, his thought process broken.

 

“You mean losing your mojo is punishment.” She says.

 

What did I say?” he asks.

 

“You said your manhood.”

 

He pauses and thinks about it.

 

“Yes, that’s right.”

 

Linda sighs, she reaches up and pinches the bridge of her nose. Trying to stifle the headache and anger rising within her.

 

“Okay. Lucifer,” she says, looking back towards him, “perhaps it might be best if you maybe … attend a meeting for those struggling with sex addiction. Maybe their stories might help you put better into perspective how sex has controlled certain aspects of your life. If you can see how you've been using sex to cope, it might help us figure out what you are trying to avoid.”

 

Lucifer looks at her for a moment as if thinking.

 

“That is … an _excellent_ idea! Wow, now I remember why I come to you,” he says, standing up, buttoning his jacket and heading for the door.

 

“ _It is_?” she asks, not liking the sudden change in his demeanor. It can only mean one thing.

 

He hasn’t taken to heart a single word she has said.

 

“Yes! What better place to test my mojo than a room full of people that can’t keep their hands and mouths off of genitalia,” he says as he opens the door.

 

“No, wait, Lucifer!” she says, reaching out. He shuts the door behind him, and she groans in frustration, curling her hand into a fist and hitting the clipboard.

 

“That’s … that’s not what I meant.”

 

\--

 

Inside the interrogation room, a man in his mid-30’s sits nervously. He shakes his leg in the seat and looks around. His eyes fall on the two-way mirror to his right. He can only see his reflection, but he has a feeling someone is in there watching him.

 

The door opens, and Chloe steps in, shutting it behind her.

 

“Thanks for coming, Mr. Braun.”

 

He sits up and adjusts himself, attempting to make himself look less nervous. Chloe sits across from him and sets the file in her hand on the table.

 

“I realize it’s a bit of a hassle having to come up here, but any information you can provide might be immensely helpful to the case," she says.

 

He nods and rests his elbows on the table.

 

“So let’s start with a simple question,” she begins, “Do you know a Brandon Johnson?”

 

He nods, ”Yes, Brandon is my co-worker. We work together at BioTech Systems.”

 

Chloe nods, “and what do you do there?”

 

“I’m a systems analyst. I basically make sure that the software we are using fits what we need, and if it doesn’t, I make suggestions.”

 

“And what does Brandon do?” Chloe asks.

 

“He’s a programmer. He helps write the software.”

 

Chloe nods.

 

“So it’s safe to say that you and Mr. Johnson see quite a bit of each other. How long have you and Mr. Johnson been friends?”

 

He inhales deeply as he thinks, “Uh … quite a while. We went to high school together so … I would say I’ve known him since then, but we didn’t become good friends until college. We both went to Tech.”

 

Chloe’s eyes raise, “You two went to high school together,” she asks.

 

He nods.

 

“So, you went to high school with his wife too? Beverly Johnson.”

 

He nods again and frowns, “She wasn’t always the … kindest girl in high school but …I remember her.

 

Chloe’s eyes furrow, “She wasn’t kind?”

 

He scoffs and sits back, suddenly comfortable.

 

“She was a teenage girl who also happened to be captain of the cheer team. Of course, she wasn’t nice. At least not to me.”

 

Chloe nods, “That whole stereotype about the popular kids and the smart kids,” she says.

 

“It’s not a stereotype if it is true,” he replies.

 

“Hmm …,” she says, tilting her head curiously, “So, did you two get along? I mean she was married to your friend … I imagine she matured with age.”

 

He sighs and shrugs, “Yeah, she was alright. We never had any major problems, just minor disagreeances here and there.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I don’t know … like she was always trying to get him to hang out with other people.”

 

“She didn’t like his friends?” Chloe asks.

 

He shakes his head, “She didn’t like me. She thought I made him less cool or something because we play Dungeons and Dragons and go to conventions.”

 

Chloe nods, “She didn’t like your game nights.”

 

He nods in agreeance, “Exactly. Brandon said he had made some deal with her and she’d been cool since then but …who knows how long that would have lasted.”

 

“So, your most recent game night … that was last night?”

 

He sighs and leans forward, “Technically today. The founder of our company had a baby and wanted to celebrate by giving everyone the day off. You know, like the kid would appreciate a whole company celebrating her birthday.”

 

He rolls his eyes and continues, “I wanted to test out a new campaign so … I asked him if he wanted to try it out mid-week. We could get a jump start on character setup at night, and we’d spend the whole day just running through the campaign.”

 

“And he said yes,” Chloe says.

 

“It took some convincing on his part but once he got the go-ahead from Bev … we were game.”

 

“What time did he arrive for game night, and what time did he leave?” Chloe says

 

He shifts a bit on his seat uncomfortably and sits back, crossing his arms.

 

“He arrived at about … seven-thirty, eight o’clock and he didn’t leave until early this morning.”

 

“And he was there the whole time?” Chloe asks.

 

He closes his eyes and pauses as if deciding whether, to tell the truth, or not.

 

“Mr. Braun,” Chloe says, as if cautioning him against the lie he is about to tell.

 

He sighs and raises his hands, “Okay … okay.”

 

He turns his eyes to the two-way mirror, hoping Brandon wasn’t standing behind it.

 

“Look …,” he says, leaning forward again, “it’s not my place to speak on someone’s relationship. I don’t agree with it, and it’s his life ... you know?”

 

“Don’t agree with what?” Chloe asks.

 

“He stayed with me the whole night …but …he did leave for about an hour and a half.”

 

Chloe squints her eyes, “Do you know where went?” she says jotting notes down.

 

The man lets go a heavy sigh and lowers his voice as if whispering.

 

“He went to see Emily.”

 

Chloe looks at him oddly.

 

“Who is Emily?”

 

\--

 

A tall man with balding hair and a grey denim jacket stands in front of a circle of chairs. In each seat, a different person, from different walks of life, sits uncomfortably as if just trying to make it through the day.

And then, there’s Lucifer. He sits as though he is waiting for a parade in his honor. He adjusts himself in his seat, a wicked smile on his face.

He makes eye contact with a nearby woman. She looks at him as if he is weird, then turns her attention back to the man standing. Lucifer frowns, that usually works.

 

The man clears his throat and looks nervously at everyone.

 

“I uhm… Hi, my name is Rick,” he says.

 

“Hi Rick,” the crowd says. That is, everyone except for Lucifer who looks around oddly at this chorus of people.

 

“I uh, my lowest point was a few weeks ago when my wife and I were out having an anniversary dinner,” he says, tears coming to his eyes, “I had cheated on her for so long that I built up this confidence that I could do anything. “

 

Lucifer looks around bored. He had thought coming here would give him some clue as to why women weren’t clawing at him like they usually would, but … this was actually making him less interested in sex; if that were possible.

 

“So, after we ordered I excused myself to the bathroom and uh … I had sex with our waitress.”

 

Suddenly Lucifer’s interest is piqued. Public sex, that was always quite enjoyable. He briefly wonders what the Detective might like. His brows furrow.

 

She had been thinking about it, _correct?_

 

“She was so loud the entire restaurant heard her," Rick continues, "The manager came in and told us to leave. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I saw my wife from across the restaurant, and it felt like time stood still. I saw every instance of our life together. Our first date, the first time we made love … our wedding, the birth of our first and second child.”

 

He shakes his head, tears coming to his eyes, “I had thrown it all away for something that meant nothing to me. “

 

A man nearby stands up and presents him with a tissue. He nods and takes it, dabbing the tears from his eyes.

 

“It took me a week to speak with her, she was so mad. She’s still so mad. We’ve been going to couples therapy together, and that seems to have helped but … I don’t think things will ever be the same again. But ... But I can try,” he says, “and that’s why I’m here.”

 

He nods and tries to smile through his frown.

 

“Thank you, Rick,” a gentleman who appears to be leading the group says as Rick sits down. He turns to the crowd.

 

“Sometimes, in our lowest moments,” he says, “we have a Eureka moment. It comes in different ways and affects us all differently, but if we can stand up and say we are better than our urges, then we have a fighting chance. “

 

Lucifer sighs and crosses his legs. The crowd turns to him.

 

“I see we have a new face this evening. Do you care to share your story?” the man says.

 

Lucifer stands and buttons his jacket.

 

“I’m afraid not. I had a different idea of what I’d expect from this evening and turns out none of this is helpful.”

 

He looks around as people stare at him.

 

"Good Luck with your uhm ... sex thing," he says.

 

He turns and makes it a few steps before the leader of the meeting speaks up.

 

“God can be forgiving,” he says.

 

Lucifer pauses and narrows his eyes. He slowly turns back to the man. The man smiles.

 

“But only if we ask for it," he finishes.

 

A silent rage builds inside him, and he clenches his jaw.

 

“What do you know about God?” he asks offended.

 

He looks around the group of people staring at him.

They had come here – like he had – to seek answers, but in comparison, their problems seemed frivolous.

 

“You know _nothing_ about God,” he says a wildness breaking free in his eyes.

 

“You think he’s some great forgiving diety? You think he cares about anything or anyone but himself?”

 

He walks back towards the center of the circle and turns to address everyone. They look at one another as if having seen an outburst before; as if it were part of the process.

 

“You think God cares about what you do with your parts? Hmm? You think he cares that you spend every waking moment thinking about fitting yourself into each other like some sort of sexual tetris?”

 

Some of them visibly cringe, not having thought about it that way. Others – the ones just starting the process - seem to enjoy the comparison.

 

“How full of yourselves do you have to be to think he gives a _shit_ about you?!”

 

He pauses and looks around, waiting for an answer. He doesn’t receive one.

 

“He doesn’t even care about his own son!” Lucifer yells, “What makes you think he cares about _you_?!”

 

The people look at him oddly. He pauses, the rage in his eyes slipping into an unending sadness. He looks around, realizing his outburst.

 

“Or maybe that’s just it,” he says, reeling from this new emotion, “he’s always cared more about you than me.”

 

The leader of the group stands up and places a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, his eyes full of sympathy. He looks at him, then around to the people in the group. He didn’t want their sympathy; he _loathed_ their sympathy.

He shrugs off the hand on his shoulder and turns to leave. He walks away, so stuck in this feeling he doesn’t even notice the woman from the group who stands to follow him.

 

\--

 

Lucifer opens the door to the outside and breathes in a thick breath of fresh air. He stumbles towards a wall and pulls a thin metal case out of his jacket pocket.

He opens it and slips a cigarette out from it. His hands shake as he brings it up to his face. Below his eyes, a glistening dam of tears threatens to break.

 

He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a lighter. He attempts to light it, but the combination of his hands shaking and his newly blurred vision make it difficult.

 

“Come on!” he mumbles as he tries to hold the cigarette in his mouth.

 

Suddenly, he hears a click and lit flame is pushed in front of him. He turns to see a young blond woman with deep red lips and a beauty mark on her cheek. She is standing next to him, a lighter in her hand.

 

He looks at her then down to the flame. Gently he cups her hands and brings the lighter up to his cigarette.

 

“Thanks,” he says, as he takes a deep breathe and inhales the smoke. She puts the lighter in her pocket and smiles.

 

“I don’t smoke anymore, but I love the smell. I find it’s nice to have a lighter on you. Otherwise, you’re just the crazy lady getting second-hand smoke from strangers.”

 

She laughs, and Lucifer just sends her a polite smile. Her smile fades, and she turns to the nearly empty parking lot.

 

“My first day wasn’t great either,” she says, “but … you stay long enough you learn some stuff.”

 

He cautions a glance at her and scoffs.

 

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” he starts to say, “but-”

 

“There is no God?” she interrupts.

 

He takes another drag of his cigarette.

 

“No, there is a God. He’s just an asshole.”

 

She chuckles to herself, then turns to him and bites her lip. She brushes her hair back out of her face and crosses her arms. Lucifer watches her, an intrigue behind his eyes.

 _She’s thinking about it_. He tilts his head, there is something familiar about her.

 

“I’m not really great with this but uhm … you seem like you don't belong here either,” she says, turning her eyes to him, “You want to get out of here?”

 

He takes a drag of the cigarette then tosses it on the ground, snuffing it out with his foot.

 

“Yes,” he says, that words laced with a confusion that almost makes it sound like a question.

 

\--

 

Chloe sits at her desk, typing up the rest of her notes from the day, the phone tucked between her ear and shoulder.

 

“Thanks for picking up Trixie, I really appreciate it,” she says.

 

“Yeah, no problem, what do these things eat anyway?” Maze asks.

 

Chloe pauses, “She’s human Maze. She will eat the same thing as you.”

 

Chloe can’t see it but Maze shrugs, “Alright, Pizza and beer it is.”

 

“She can’t have beer Maze!” Chloe says.

 

“Her loss,” Maze says before she hangs up.

 

Chloe sighs and sets the phone down. She knows Trixie is in good hands but … she second-guesses it for a split second.

 

She goes back to typing on her computer then checks her watch. 5:15pm. She tilts her head back and sighs. Okay, almost done.

 

Ella comes out of her lab and locks the door. She then turns to Chloe and smiles.

 

“Didn’t you hear? Time to clock out!” she says as she walks over to her desk.

 

Chloe chuckles to herself, “I’m almost done. Any news on a coroners report?”

 

Ella nods, “I pulled a few strings, and they’re doing the autopsy tonight, we should have a report in the morning.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

“What about you? Any new information I might find useful?” Ella asks.

 

Chloe pauses and thinks for a moment, “Not really. Except, the husband apparently was having an affair with a woman named Emily. I’m going to interview her tomorrow. Maybe we are dealing with a fed-up mistress?”

 

Ella nods.

 

“Well, you know where to find me tomorrow if you need a ride-along. I could use a little fresh air every once in a while.”

 

Chloe laughs as Ella waves and heads up the steps to exit the station.

 

“We’re still on for Friday, right?” Chloe yells back. Ella waves and nods to suggest yes. Chloe smiles and goes back to her report.

 

A nearby phone rings and she looks up to see the Lieutenant sitting at her desk, her eyes deep in documents. The Lieutenant answers the phone. Chloe watches her momentarily before going back to her reports.

 

She hits save and closes the folder in front of her. She sighs and sits back, roaming her hand through her loose ponytail. Her eye turns to her phone. She wonders if she should call him.

 

If she invited him over the night, would he come? Would she be able to control herself with him in her bed again? She shakes that thought off and sits back in her seat. She just needed to … _focus._

 

She opens the file just as the click of a nearby door is heard. She looks up to see the Lieutenant walking in her direction, a stapled packet of papers in her hand.

 

“Detective,” she says, walking up to her with a smile, “You intend to burn the midnight oil?"

 

Chloe laughs, “Absolutely not. I’m just finishing up this report from the interview today.”

 

The Lieutenant smiles and sets the thick packet of papers on Chloe’s desk.

 

“I made some phone calls after meeting with Mr. Morningstar. _If_ he’s willing to agree to a few terms, we can get him put back on as a consultant under a short probation period.”

 

Chloe raises her eyebrows in surprise and grabs the packet. She flips through it. It’s a lot of pages.

 

“I know it seems like a lot but … we do have quite a few caveats,” the Lieutenant says.

 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Chloe says, knowing Lucifer would sign it without reading it anyway, “what made you change your mind?”

 

The Lieutenant sharply inhales, “He uh… got some information out of me I didn’t intend to share. I figured if he can do that to me, he might be useful for some suspects.”

 

Chloe smiles widely, trying to contain her excitement and failing.

 

“ _But,_ ” the Lieutenant continues, “he has to agree to protocol. We can’t keep having people screaming about him being the devil.”

 

Chloe chokes on her spit, and the Lieutenant frowns. She watches as Chloe attempts to regain her composure.

 

“Right, yeah,” she says.

 

“You okay?” the Lieutenant asks.

 

Chloe nods, “Yeah, wrong pipe.”

 

“Anyway, get Mr. Morningstar to sign these before five tomorrow, and we can probably have him back on task by Friday.”

 

Chloe nods, “Thanks.”

 

“No problem,” She says as she turns and heads back to her office.

 

“Lieutenant?” Chloe says.

 

She pauses and turns back to Chloe.

 

“I wouldn’t be too upset about it … he does that to everyone.”

 

_Everyone but her._

 

She nods and goes back into her office, shutting the door behind her.

Chloe looks down at the packet then at the screen of her computer.

It was an excuse to see him.

 

If she went now, and something did happen … no one would know. Maze wouldn’t even know. She wouldn’t have to make an excuse for how late she was coming home.

She thinks about what could happen. She could feel his skin on hers again. She could hear him moaning breathlessly again. She could feel him inside of her. She bites her lip. A decision has been made.

She hits save on her current document, then she shuts her computer down. Then she grabs her coat quickly and makes sure to pick up the packet of papers before running out of the station.

 


	6. Red Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maze babysits Trixie, Chloe has a job for Maze, Linda gets a nighttime visitor, Ella's friends really like Maze and Lucifer finds himself in a sticky situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It'll get kind of rough for Lucifer and Chloe, but I promise you it will pay off.

 

Ella’s apartment is dark and silent, save for the almost imperceivable sound of her air conditioner running. The silence is broken by the distinct jingling of keys and movement of the lock on the door.

Then, the door opens.

Ella steps in holding a brown bag of Chinese take-out. She shuts the door behind her, sets the food on the counter with her keys, and then clicks on the light switch flooding her apartment in light.

 

“Woo,” she sighs as she kicks her shoes off, “finally.”

 

She takes the cross-body bag off her body and sets it on the ground nearby before reaching up and pulling her shirt off. She walks to her bedroom where inside she tosses the shirt into a hamper and unbuttons her pants. She slides the jeans off her legs and kicks them into the clothes basket before reaching into her closet and pulling out a long, almost dress length, t-shirt to slip on.

 

Then she heads back into the kitchen and starts taking the food containers from the brown paper bag. She opens one container and sniffs it before reaching in with her hands and pulling out a stem of broccoli and placing it in her mouth. Her eyes roll back in her head.

 

“Mmm!” she says, looking back down into the container.

 

She walks over to a cupboard and pulls out a bowl and begins dishing food out for herself. When she is done, she closes the containers, pulls out a fork from her utensil drawer, and walks over to her living room. She sets the bowl on the coffee table then walks over to the tv to turn on her game console.

 

She walks back around the coffee table and collapses into her sofa as she places the headset on her head. The headset dings as she joins the waiting party of her friends.

 

“Maze?!” a male voice says as she joins.

 

“No, it’s me, doofus,” Ella says jokingly.

 

He groans, “Awww man. When is your friend going to play with us? She was awesome.”

 

Ella sighs, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought this was _my_ account. Are we playing or what?”

 

“We’re waiting on Jekkyl to finish his match,” the voice says.

 

“Is that Maze?!” a female voice says, as she hears shuffling from her headset. She’s clearly just returning from somewhere else.

 

“No, it’s Ella,” the male voice says.

 

“Damn,” the female voice says.

 

“Wow,” Ella says, “You guys really hate me now, huh?”

 

They laugh.

 

“We don’t hate you,” the female voice says.

 

“We just really liked her. She was awesome,” the male voice says.

 

“And a great shot.”

 

Ella rolls her eyes.

 

“Are we ready yet or should I go play something else?” she asks, annoyed.

 

“Almost,” the male voice says, “they have 75 tickets left.”

 

Ella sighs and sits back, bringing the bowl of food to her chest. She chews on it, annoyed by her friends. Why do they like Maze so much? Her eye rolls over to her phone. She liked Maze too but, after that night … maybe Maze didn’t want to be friends with her.

She briefly thinks about what they did, or rather what was done to her. Maze clearly knew what she was doing and Ella … Ella didn’t. Maybe that is why Maze hadn’t even so much as texted her since she got back?

 

She groans is anger at herself.

_Why did she have to fall asleep?_

 

She pauses. Should she text Maze? She had been back for at least one night now, it wouldn’t be too needy of her to get some confirmation that things were okay between them … right?

 

A bell dings as a player joins the group.

 

“Alright, I’m ready,” Jekyll says.

 

“Finally,” Ella says into her headset, ready to ignore that thought and get some gaming in.

 

“Ella?!” Jekyll says, “Where’s your friend Maze?”

 

She audibly groans and they laugh at her.

 

\--

 

Lucifer sits at his piano, tickling the keys gently while the young woman from Sex Addicts Anonymous sits on the couch nearby; her legs crossed. She watches him with a drink in her hand.

Her eyes run over his body in a manner that indicates she’s clearly thinking about it. She wonders what he tastes like; her eyes slowly stripping the clothing off of him piece by piece.

He turns his eyes to her. He can see that look in her eyes, but it doesn’t make him feel the way it should.

 

“ _So_ , what’s a woman like you doing in a Sex therapy?” he asks, reaching for his drink.

 

She smiles, and her eyes go to the drink in her hand.

 

“You don’t even know my name, how do you know I don’t belong there?” she asks.

 

He looks up from the keys to her. She was right. He didn’t know her name. He never cared enough to ask. She sees the look on his face and smiles.

 

“Zoe,” she says, “and I was doing the same thing everyone else was doing … looking for answers.”

 

She leans forward, grasping the glass with both hands.

 

“You know, why do I like sex so much? Why can’t I stop? Why does it make me feel so …” she pauses, her smile fading and the façade dropping for a second. She stares off into the distance as if reliving something.

 

 _Empty_ , he thinks, _the word she is looking for is empty._

 

She throws that emotion away and slips back into her façade, the smile coming back across her face as she leans back and crosses her legs. She brings the drink up to her lips.

 

“What about you? You don’t seem like the type that seeks help. In fact, you seem like the type that doesn’t think he has a problem.”

 

Lucifer chuckles.

 

“My problem has nothing to do with sex,” he says as he grabs the drink and goes to join her on the couch.

 

“See? I know my men,” she says pleased with herself.

 

He sits next to her, sending a wave of cologne her way. She inhales it deeply, the lust seeping behind her eyes. He turns to her. _She’s thinking about it again_.

 

“So, you haven’t had your moment yet?” she asks.

 

He looks at her oddly, “My what?”

 

She smiles.

 

“Your Eureka moment. You know, the moment you realize ‘Gee, I _might_ have a problem.’”

 

He laughs to himself.

 

“I enjoy sex, and I have it with whomever I choose because I am free to do so.”

 

She grins widely. She likes to hear that.

 

“So, no wife, no kids?” she asks.

 

“Absolutely not,” he says, “me? My own spawn?” he guffaws at the idea. How … _disturbing_.

 

“Father would love that,” he says, as he brings the glass to his lips.

 

“Daddy issues, huh?” she says.

 

He turns to her, a look of offense on his face.

 

“It’s okay, we all have our things. My therapist says I use sex as a distraction,” she says. She rolls her eyes.

 

“What does she know,” she finishes.

 

Lucifer looks at her, a chord struck in the conversation.

 

“Dr. Martin said the same thing about me,” he says, intrigued.

 

She hums a pleasing note to herself that almost sounds like a purr.

 

“It’s nice to talk to someone who understands. Everyone there is all … religion this, religion that.

 

“Yes, I noticed. Any place that uses God as an answer to anything is clearly a sham,” he says, bringing his drink to his lips again.

 

“Like he cares,” he finishes.

 

She laughs and turns her body to him, draping her arm over the back of the sofa and holding her head up with her hands.

 

“What’s your deal with religion anyway? Why do you have it out so much for God? Touched by a priest?”

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrow and looks at her. What an odd question to ask.

 

“No,” he says, “I just … It’s a family thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

 

She smiles and places a hand on his thigh. He looks down at it, it’s awfully close to his penis.

 

“Try me,” she says. He turns to look at her, and she smiles. She knows exactly what she is doing.

 

He inhales deeply and stands, moving himself to the bar.

 

“What about you?” he asks, “what was your Eureka moment, as you call it?”

 

He reaches for the decanter and fills his glass.

 

“You know an awful lot about ‘Daddy issues,’” he says,

 

She sits back. She likes it when they play hard to get.

 

“No, my dad was a great guy,” she says, “but ...”

 

He turns to her, and she stares off into the distance. He watches her, she doesn’t seem so bad when she isn’t trying to have sex with him.

 

Her smile fades, and she looks into her drink.

 

“Believe it or not, I use to be engaged,” she begins, “He was your standard clean-cut, suit and tie kind of businessman.”

 

She pauses as she turns to Lucifer and looks him over. Her eyebrows furrow.

 

“Much like you actually,” she says.

 

He glances down at himself, then back to her. She turns her head to the drink in her hand and swirls it.

 

“He traveled on private jets all over the world closing deals for large corporations. So, much of our relationship was long-distance but … I didn’t care. When you love someone, you find ways to make it work.”

 

She furrows her eyebrows and shakes her head.

 

“I mean, part of me knows he was unfaithful but … I was young and stupid and … in love.”

 

He turns to her as she speaks. She stares off into the distance like remembering something she didn’t want to.

 

“When he died … every woman he ever fucked came to stake a claim on his fortune. They said he had made them promises.”

 

She turns to him and stares him in the eye, it’s a look of sadness he is familiar with.

 

“He made me a promise too. I had a ring and everything,” she says, “Do you know what that’s like? Grieving someone you love while the evidence they never loved you just keeps … punching you in the face?”

 

She turns back to her drink.

 

“And so, you used sex to cope?” Lucifer asks, his mind already going back to that day with the detective.

 

It didn’t make it right what he did, he thinks, but … at least there was a reason for it. A reason outside of him just being … the devil.

 

She chuckles, “What are you, my therapist? No… no, I used it for revenge. _I was angry_. Who wouldn’t be? I just … I was looking for anything that I thought would hurt him, even in death. So …”

 

She pulls the glass up to her lips, “I fucked his best friend.”

 

She takes a big gulp of the drink and then looks at the empty glass. She turns to him, there’s a dark lust in her eyes that he is unfamiliar with. Desire he’s seen, sure, but there was something else there.

 

“Then, when that wasn’t enough … I fucked his brother.”

 

Lucifer’s eyes narrow. In her eyes, like every other woman that had ever been in his penthouse, was desire. But it was a dark, perverted version. One born out of pain and anger, not the kind he was used to. Not just two adults enjoying each other for the sake of pleasure. No, her desire was clearly different. There was no pleasure to be had there, just action; something to dull the pain.

 

“When that wasn’t enough,” she continued, “I fucked his father … but no matter what I did, or who I did it with, it felty empty.”

 

 He watches her, still and unmoving.

 

“Anyway, long story short. I was in a motel room fucking an older man and … he just died on me. Like _physically_ collapsed on top of me.”

 

She shakes her head, laughing at the absurdity.

 

“I didn’t know him. I barely even knew his name, and there he was … not only inside of me, but he had breathed his last breath inside of a stranger. Not in some hospital bed with his dutiful wife holding his hand and his children crying at his side. He just up and dies in a seedy hotel with … _me_.”

 

The way she says that makes it apparent how she felt about herself. 

 

She looks down at her drink, “I didn’t even know his name,” she says.

 

She looks back at him, to find him staring at her speechless. She can’t tell if its pity or horror on his face, but she doesn’t like either one.

She stands up and sets the glass on the coffee table.

Slowly she begins to walk towards him.

 

“So yeah, if you ask my therapist maybe I do belong there …but you want to know what I think?”

 

His head tilts from curiosity to being on full alert. She was walking towards him.

 

“I think I just like sex,” she says.

 

\--

 

Inside Chloe’s apartment, Maze sits comfortably on the couch while Trixie sits on the floor nearby, her knees tucked beneath the coffee table.

On TV in front of them, a documentary plays.

 

_In the savannah, the lion is king ..._

 

Maze takes a swig of her beer then slides her eyes down to Trixie. She narrows them and watches her for a moment. Slowly, a softness starts to develop behind her eyes, and she smiles.

She brings the beer up to her mouth to take another swig just as the doorbells rings.

 

“Mmm!” she says, as a bit of beer dribbles down her lip, “That must be the pizza.”

 

She sets the beer bottle on the side table nearby and walks around the couch to the door.

 

“Pizza!” Trixie yells happily, scooting herself from under the table and standing up.

 

Maze smiles and reaches out to open the door. She is greeted with a young man whose face is full of red and angry pimples. He wears a red shirt and white hat and doesn’t look at all happy to be working.

 

“Jim’s Italian Delivery,” he says in a monotonous tone.

 

Maze looks at him oddly then turns her eyes to the box of pizza he carries in his hand.

 

“That will be sixteen dollars even,” he says.

 

She reaches into her pocket to pull out money just as Trixie comes to stand next to her. She looks at him, then at Maze.

 

“What’s wrong with his face?” she whispers in the way a child thinks is whispering but isn’t actually.

 

Maze smiles and turns to the guy who doesn’t seem amused by it.

 

“Oh, come on, she’s a kid. Sometimes they say things like that,” she says as she hands him a twenty-dollar bill. She takes the pizza box from him.

 

“Keep the change,” she says, slamming the door in his face.

 

He sighs and shoves the bill into his pocket.

On the other side of the door, Maze sets the box of pizza on the counter and flips it open to reveal a delicious and piping hot cheese pizza. She smiles and reaches in to grab a slice.

 

“I’ve never wanted something in my mouth so badly,” she says as she puts the slice in her mouth and bites. She moans into it.

 

It’s so. _Fucking_. Good.

 

She chews and turns to see Trixie sitting at the table, staring at her and waiting.

She pauses chewing then looks down at the slice of pizza before turning her eyes to the box.

 

 _Oh_ , she thinks, _I should probably feed the child first._

 

She tosses her slice on top of the box then picks the box off the counter before carrying it to the table.

She drops the box on the table, retrieves her slice then opens the box flat open.

 

“Have at it,” she says.

 

Trixie looks at her oddly, then looks back at the pizza.

 

“Mommy usually puts it on a plate for me,” she says.

 

Maze takes a big bite out of her pizza and stares at Trixie as if trying to figure her out. She narrows her eyes.

 

“When you’re with me,” she says, pointing the slice in her direction, “you eat with your hands, yeah?”

 

Trixie looks at her oddly. Maze takes another bite, watching has as if seeing how far this experiment can go. Trixie looks at the pizza then back at Maze. She shrugs and reaches for a slice. She peels it out of the box then happily begins eating it. Maze chews with a smile on her face.

This raising a kid thing was easy. She didn’t know what Decker complained about.

 

Maze’s phone buzzes and she reaches into her pants pocket to pull it out. She thumbs through it and smiles.

 

She bites the pizza, “Yes! Looks like I have a new bounty,” she says.

 

She sets the slice of pizza on the box and stands up, heading into her room. Trixie’s eyes follow her, a look of worry on her face.

 

“You aren’t leaving, are you? You just got back,” she says.

 

“This one shouldn’t take too long,” she says from her room as she looks for a particular satchel of knives, “a few hours tops.”

 

Maze comes to stand at the door, “As soon as Decker gets here, I’ll head out.”

 

Trixie has a frown on her face. Maze looks at her oddly.

 

“What?” she says.

 

“You just got back,” she replies.

 

Maze pauses and watches her. Trixie is truly sad. Her brows furrow. _She really didn’t want her to go?_

 

Maze suddenly remembers something and goes back into her room. Trixie turns to the open bedroom and watches as Maze makes a bunch of noise; tossing things around in her room.

 

“Ah!” she says. Maze comes out of the room with a small brown paper bag.

 

“Here,” she says, plopping the bag on the table. Trixie looks at it, her eyebrow arched.

 

“What is this?”

 

“Open it,” Maze says, reaching over the table to grab her pizza slice.

 

Trixie puts her slice of pizza down and slowly opens the bag. She reaches in to pull out a small swiss army knife that has the word “Miami” painted on the side.

 

“I was told it was a knife?” Maze says between chewing a big bite of pizza, “though I don’t know what all that other stuff is.”

 

Trixie’s eyes widen.

 

“Cool!” she says, standing up and hugging Maze.

 

“Thanks, Maze!”

 

“Yeah,” Maze says, hugging back a little tighter than usual, “Don’t mention it.”

 

\--

 

Zoe approaches Lucifer as he tries but fails to implant himself into the bar. She scrunches her eyes as she sees him moving away.

 

“Don’t be scared, I don’t bite … hard,” she says.

 

She closes the distance between them, and suddenly her lips are on his. He looks at her, his eyes wide. Slowly they begin close as he starts to remember what it feels like to touch a woman. By reasonable standards, it had not been too long. By his own, however, it had been forever. It had been forever, and her lips are soft and warm. He had missed that feeling.

 

He begins to kiss her back. She smiles into his kisses, finally getting what she wanted. Her red lipstick smears over his lips as he reaches a hand up and pulls her closer. Her hand snakes down and begins to caress his penis through his pants. She hums warmly and separates her lips from his.

 

“I thought you might be big,” she says, “I was hoping at least. You had that energy about you.”

 

She falls down to her knees and begins to undo the buckle of his belt. He looks down at her, a haze over his eyes. He needed a release; it had been way too long.

She unzips his pants and reaches in to pull out his still flaccid penis. She looks up at him a crooked smile on her face. He looks down at her as she wraps her lips around the head of his cock. He tilts his head back momentarily. It felt good; it felt _really_ good.

 

He looks down and watches her, a smile on his face before his smile slowly fades. His brows furrow as he notices the strange love in her eyes. It’s the same kind every woman has ever given him, but it is different now. He stares at her trying to figure out what is different about it. The sight is pleasing, just like the sight of any woman eager to make his body react. But the more he stares, the more he realizes it isn’t enough.

 

It isn’t enough that she could make his body feel pleasure or that he could offer her a night beyond her wildest dreams.

It isn’t enough that she would offer herself to him without the expectation of dinner or even breakfast.

It isn’t enough that she didn’t expect anything past sex. He had allowed himself to briefly think he might have been worthy of more than meaningless sex. It was hard going back to thinking he might not be.

 

No, for some reason now … _he requires more_.

Suddenly, the haze is gone, and he recognizes what has changed.

 

This wasn’t her. _This wasn’t the detective._

 

This woman loved what his body could do for her, but not him. He had been mildly interested before when the warmth of her body threatened to send him into a hurricane of passion. But now, looking at her, watching her fellate him with no response from his body, it wasn’t enough anymore.

 

When they were done, she would leave, and he may never hear from her again. That was great when he wanted it, but now ...

 

He tilts his head curiously. As if seeing something he had never seen before.

 

… it wasn’t what he wanted.

 

He’d be just another body left in the wake of her journey in self-loathing.

 

He pauses.

 

Is this what he had been doing? Is this how the detective felt? Did he make her feel that way? He hadn’t thought about how she might feel, after seeing him pleasure nameless woman after nameless woman.

She had expressed many times her disgust and even suggested she felt pity for him but ... _what about hurt?_

Had he unknowingly put her in this exact position? Did he have her wondering if he would use her? If he would move on to the next woman without so much as a second thought?

But … he loved her. _Didn’t she know she was different?_

 

He looks down at Zoe, her tongue tracing circles around the head of his penis, trying and failing to get it to react. She had told him her name, but even now he couldn’t remember it.

 

No, this isn’t what he wanted, or who he wanted. His body somehow knew that before he did. He reaches his hands out and gently pushes her away. She’s knocked out of her personal pleasure and looks up at him oddly.

 

“What? Am I doing something wrong?” she asks.

 

He shakes his head, “No … it’s just …”

 

He tucks himself back into his pants and redoes the buckle on his belt.

 

“Are you not a blowjob guy?” she asks, “we could do something else.”

 

“No, I believe we’re done here,” he says, eager to end this interaction.

 

She scoffs and stands up.

 

“Oh, let me guess … it’s not me, it’s you,” she says as if she’s heard that line before.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “No. It’s absolutely you.”

 

She pauses.

 

“What?” she says as if hurt by that. As if she expected to hear some line about how he just wasn’t in the right place for a relationship. As if that was what she wanted.

 

“It’s just … you’re not her,” he says.

 

She looks at him oddly, “Who?”

 

She follows that up with “I can be anyone you want me to be, baby,” as she grabs his collar to pull him in.

 

He shakes his head, “No, you can’t be the –“

 

Suddenly, the elevator rings and a smiling Chloe steps in.

 

“– Detective!” Lucifer says, his voice suddenly two octaves higher.

 

She pauses just outside the elevator as it closes behind her. Her eyes jump from Lucifer to the woman.

 

She looks at him, then at her. Her smile fades. She looks back at him and sees the lipstick smudged all over his face.

 

“Wha … I,” she begins to say her mind and body in shock.

 

“Detective,” he says, distancing himself from Zoe.

 

Zoe looks back and forth between Lucifer and Chloe and begins to put two and two together.

 

“Oh … now it all makes sense,” Zoe says, relieved. She thought it was her but … no, _it was him._

 

“I never thought I’d say this in a non ironic way but …,” he says, “this is not what it looks like.”

 

The shock starts to wear off, and Chloe approaches the bar. She crosses her arms, the packet of papers still in her hand. Chloe turns to Lucifer, the anger behind her eyes lets him know she isn’t happy with him.

 

“What makes sense?” she says, crossing her arms. She says it to Lucifer, but her eyes slowly drift to Zoe.

 

“Uh … I think I’m going to leave,” Zoe says, sensing a tension.

 

“No,” Chloe says, stopping her.

 

She slams the papers on the bar and turns to Lucifer, “I’ll leave. You’re more _desired_ here anyway.”

 

She heads to the elevator, shaking her head. Why did she come here? _What did she expect from the devil?_

 

“Detective,” he says, beckoning her to stay.

 

She doesn’t respond. He walks behind her, heading towards the elevator. She presses the button.

 

“Detective, please,” he says.

 

“Sign the papers Lucifer,” she says, stepping into the elevator, “before I change my mind.”

 

The doors close in his face, and he sighs. He rests his head gently against the closed doors of the elevator.

 

Zoe stands behind him. She crosses her arms.

 

“I thought you said you didn’t have a wife?”

 

“She’s not my wife,” he says as he turns to her, suddenly upset. Suddenly angry as if it were her fault.

 

“Okay, then she’s your girlfriend.”

 

“She’s not my girlfriend either,” he says, crossing to the bar to glance at the packet on the table. It’s a contract from the LAPD.

 

“I don’t know, “Zoe says, sitting on the arm of the couch, “That’s a very girlfriend way to react to a woman in a man’s apartment for someone who isn’t your girlfriend.”

 

He turns his eyes up to her. He narrows them. Chloe wasn’t his girlfriend … _was she_?

 

Zoe rolls her eyes and sighs, “You men are always the same. Go! Trust me, you do not want her to get into her car. We convince ourselves to do some crazy shit when those doors close.”

 

He nods. He didn’t want to be up here alone with her anyway. She might attempt to fellate him again.

 

\--

 

Downstairs, Chloe exits the front door of LUX, still seething. Just behind her eyes, though, sadness threatens to take hold of her. If she could just make it to her car, she thinks, she could cry like she wants to.

 

She begins walking and is already halfway down the sidewalk when behind her, a British voice says:

 

“Detective!”

 

She ignores him. If she pretends like she can’t hear him, maybe he will go away. She hears the clapping of his Italian shoes on the pavement and knows he is getting closer.

 

“Detective! Wait!” he says.

 

“Go away, Lucifer! Go back to your _girlfriend_ ,” she says.

 

Lucifer catches up to her and walks in front of her, blocking her travel. She tries to go around him, but he prevents her again.

 

“Detective, please. Allow me to explain,” he says.

 

She caves.

 

“Explain what, Lucifer?” she says, crossing her arms, “how can you explain this? You had a woman in your penthouse, and it is very clear what you were about to do.”

 

He shakes his head, “No, that’s just it. I wasn’t.”

 

She shakes her head, “I don’t believe that” she says.

 

He furrows his eyes, ‘Detective, I would never lie to you, you know that.”

 

She looks at him, that line used to be sweet. It used to make her feel safe; like she could always trust him. Now it angers her. Was it ever true?

 

“You told me you loved me,” she says, the sadness breaking through her anger as her voice softens and her eyes begin to water.

 

He watches her. He never wants to hurt her, yet somehow he had managed to hurt her.

 

“And I do,” he says.

 

He reaches out a hand to her, but she brushes him away. Her eyes fall down to his lips; still smeared in red lipstick.

 

“Is that what love looks like to you?” she asks.

 

He looks confused. She sees the look on his face and reaches down to grab his hand. They send electrical signals through his spine that makes him want to not let go.

She brings his hand up to his mouth and slides the back of his hand across his mouth. He turns his head away. Why she is doing this?

 

“What are you-,” he begins to say annoyed.

 

When he turns back to her, his eyes instinctively go down to the red smear across his hand. He looks at it confused for a moment, then realizes what it is. He pulls his hands away and rubs his mouth with his fingers. When he pulls it back, a pink smear; lipstick. He has lipstick all over his face.

 

He turns to her, his eyes wide with shock. This looks bad, this looks _really_ bad.

 

“Yeah,” she says sadly, seeing he has no response for her.

 

She walks around him, and he doesn’t stop her this time.

 

“Good Night, Lucifer,” she says.

 

He had gotten used to it, but this … this was the saddest he’s heard her say Good Night.

 

\--

 

It’s quiet in Linda’s backyard. She sits, her legs crossed beneath her on a swing that faces out into a closed-off back yard. She has a colorful, thin blanket draped across her legs and sips from a cup of tea.

It is peaceful here and just what she needs after a long day of hearing about other people’s problems. She sighs in contentedness as she reaches over to a nearby table and sets the cup on a saucer. She turns and reaches to a book near her feet and opens it to the chapter she has bookmarked. She tucks her legs further beneath the blanket and reads silently to herself for a moment, enjoying the downtime.

Nearby windchimes swing gently in the breeze, gently enough that they don’t clang together but swing in unison.

She reaches over with one hand and brings the tea to her lips before taking another sip. She pauses, takes another sip then sets it down before flipping the page.

Suddenly a breeze kicks up, and the wind chimes clang together loudly. She turns them as the wind gently blows her hair. The breeze is short, and soon, the chimes begin to settle down. She looks out into the yard, scanning the enclosed darkness. Her eyes narrow. She knows enough to know wind just doesn’t appear like that. She looks up into the sky; a storm isn’t coming.

She tries her best to shrug it off and goes back to her book. She reads a few sentences before she looks back into the yard. Her eyes scan it again. She can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched.

She reaches for her cup of tea and sips it. She pauses and turns her eyes back to the yard; the feeling getting stronger. She knows she’s not paranoid. _Right?_

Casually, she closes the book and tucks it between her armpit before tossing the blanket off of her and carrying the tea inside. She slides the door to her back porch open, steps in and slides it closed. She makes sure to lock it. She looks out into her backyard again, before closing the blinds. Whatever is out there, she can’t see it, and it can’t see her.

In her backyard, just behind a tall tree, Amenadiel sighs.

\--

Back in Chloe’s apartment, Maze sits on the couch with Trixie, still watching the nature documentary. Trixie sits tucked comfortably under her arms, her eyes drooping as she starts to fall asleep.

 

_Despite their conflict, males and females must cooperate. They need each other to bring their genes together ..._

 

A sly smile comes over Maze’s face as the male lion begins to mount the female lion.

Trixie’s slowly shutting eyes suddenly pop wide open as the male lion is clearly not just wrestling.

 

“What is he doing to that lion?" Trixie asks, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry.

 

Maze nonchalantly says, “He’s just –“

 

She turns to see Trixie looking at her with a clueless look on her face.

Maze pauses. It suddenly dawns on her just how angry Chloe will be with her. She doesn’t know much, but she does know that human parents tend to be protective of that kind of information. She doesn’t personally see why but …

 

_These lions sit at the center of a battle 14 billion years in the making and at the heart of that battle is sex ..._

 

Trixie turns to the TV and arches an eyebrow. Maze suddenly feels way in over her head and reaches forward to shut the documentary off. She turns to Trixie and opens her mouth to say something when she hears a jingling of keys at the door. A hot wave of panic falls over her.

Chloe enters and softly shuts the door behind her.

 

“Hey,” Maze says, a tinge of suspicion in her voice, “I thought you were coming home early today?”

 

Chloe turns to her, and Maze can see her eyes are red and puffy. Maze stands up and approaches her.

 

“You okay?” she asks, a look of worry on her face.

 

“Yeah, I … it must just be allergies or something.”

 

Maze looks at her, it’s clear she doesn’t believe her.

 

“I’m going to go upstairs and take a shower. Maybe wash whatever it is off me,” she says, not maintaining eye contact with her.

 

She walks past the living room and sees Trixie on the couch, looking back at her.

 

“Hey monkey,” she says with a small smile.

 

Trixie looks at her, a look of worry on her face too.

Maze turns and watches as Chloe goes upstairs. She has the sense that it isn’t just allergies. She turns to Trixie.

 

“Mommy doesn’t have allergies,” she says softly.

 

Maze nods and begins to ascend the steps to Chloe’s bedroom.

Inside her bedroom, Chloe sits on her bed in silence, staring out the window. There is a gentle knock on the door, and she wipes her eyes before turning to it.

 

“Come in,” she says.

 

Maze pushes open the door. It slowly swings open, creaks and all. She leans on the doorframe, her arms crossed and a serious look on her face.

 

“Alright, out with it Decker. Who do I have to torture?”

 

Chloe chuckles and wipes her eyes. Her smile fades, and she turns back to Maze. It’s clear she doesn’t buy the allergy story.

Chloe turns back to the window. She leans forward, trying to make herself smaller. Trying to crawl into the ball she wants to die in.

 

“I didn’t get her name, unfortunately,” she says.

 

Maze pushes herself off the door frame and walks to the side of Chloe’s bed.

 

“That’s fine. Give me a description, general age, and last known location.”

 

“Blonde,” she begins thinking about how this woman looked, “uhm … a beauty mark, nice body. I would say somewhere around … late 20’s.”

 

“Okay, last known location?” Maze says, storing this information in her brain.

 

Chloe looks down at her feet, her eyes beginning to well with water again.

 

“Uhm,” she says, trying to choke back tears, “Lucifer’s penthouse.”

 

Maze’s face falls from an interest in torture, as she understands what is happening now.

 

“Oh Decker,” she says the pity in her voice, “Damn.”

 

She doesn’t know what to say. She sits down next to Chloe, and they both stare out the window.

 

“Damn,” she says again.

 

“Yeah,” Chloe says, wiping her eyes.

 

She thought they were … what did she think they were? They hadn’t even spoken about it. She knew she has the right to feel sad, but did she also have the right to be angry at him? They never spoke about boundaries or what they were but ... didn't he know? Didn't he want her?

 

She shakes her head, “It’s not her fault,” she says,” It’s unfair to blame her when it’s not her fault. She didn’t know.”

 

“Well, I can’t exactly torture the devil. I mean, I could … but from experience he tends to like a little pain,” she says.

 

Chloe guffaws and brings her hands to her face.

 

What was she doing crying over Lucifer yet again? She had cried over him so many times, and she thought she wouldn’t have to again. He had held her so tightly after her possession, and she had gotten him to spend the night in her bed without so much of a fight. She didn’t think he would do what he did. She thought he had learned but … could you teach an old dog new tricks?

 

“Am I stupid for loving him?” she says quietly as if she didn’t want the answer; as if she had already made up her mind.

 

Maze looks at her. Ella had asked her the same thing. What was with humans and thinking they were stupid. Certainly, Chloe was in this situation. The devil wasn’t a monogamous or relationship type, but … If ever he were going to be, she would be the one to make him change.

 

“Absolutely,” she says.

 

Chloe turns to her, and Maze smiles from ear to ear. Chloe chuckles and shakes her head.

 

“But … if anyone can make the devil monogamous, it’s you.”

 

Chloe’s smile fades into a frown.

 

“I don’t want to make him do anything,” she says, “I want him to do it all by himself.”

 

Maze rolls her eyes and gets up.

 

“Can’t help you there, Decker. He’s powerful, but he’s also an idiot when it comes to this stuff. If you wait for him to come to his own conclusions, you’ll be waiting for a while.”

 

“Mommy?” they hear.

 

They turn to the door to see Trixie entering the doorway. Chloe smiles softly and holds her hands out.

 

“Come here,” she says.

  
Trixie approaches Chloe and slips into her arms. Chloe wraps her arms around Trixie and kisses her head. She needed that love right now.

 

“Are you okay?” Trixie says, pulling away slightly.

 

Chloe smiles and brushes Trixie’s hair back with her hand.

 

“I’ll be fine. It’s just been a bad day for mommy, okay? Tomorrow will be ...”

 

She pauses. What would she do when she sees Lucifer? What if he decides not to sign? What if this was it?

 

“Tomorrow will be tomorrow,” she says, her eyes glazed over and full of questions and hurt.

 

Trixie turns to Maze who looks at them both, a weird look of longing in her eyes. Chloe’s eyes turn to Maze, and she pulls her head up.

She turns to Trixie.

 

“I think Maze needs a hug too,” she says with a smile.

 

Maze who suddenly looks like a deer in headlights.

 

“Oh, no, I’m good. I actually have to go. I just got a new bounty,” she says.

 

Chloe frowns, “but you just got back last night.”

 

“You should know more than anyone the bad guys don’t rest,” Maze says.

 

“And neither do you. You haven’t even slept since you got back,” Chloe says.

 

“Yeah well, more need for me to go on a bounty. Get that energy out, get the bad guy, make some money … rent money-“

 

“Okay, you convinced me. Good Luck,” she says quickly.

 

Maze laughs, “Yeah, I thought that would get you.”

 

The room is dipped in silence for a moment. Chloe rests her head on Trixie’s head, and Maze stares back at the window.

 

“Mommy?” Trixie asks. Chloe turns to her.

 

“Yes, baby?”

 

“What is sex?”

 

Chloe’s face goes white, and her eyes widen. She turns to Maze with the same look she gave Lucifer. If she were the devil, her eyes would be burning.

 

“I think that’s my queue to leave,” Maze says as she exits the room quickly. Suddenly the idea of parenting is not easy.

 

Chloe slowly turns to Trixie, who looks at her waiting for an answer.

 

“Where did you heard about that? Was it from Maze?” she asks.

 

Trixie shakes her head “From TV.”

 

Chloe looks at her oddly, “The TV? What were you watching?”

 

Trixie shrugs, “A show about lions. And one of the lions climbed on top of the other and-“

 

“Oh, okay,” Chloe says, formulating something in her mind. At least it wasn’t from Maze. If Maze had told her something about sex, she’d have to kick her out and then deprogram Trixie. She’s seen the stuff Maze considers reasonable.

 

“Well,” she says, “how about we save that conversation for later. Okay?”

 

Trixie frowns.

 

“Did you do your homework?” Chloe says, changing the topic.

 

“Yes,” Trixie says sadly.

 

“Alright, go get ready for bed then okay?”

 

Trixie sulks away, and Chloe sits there. She lets out a large exasperated sigh when Trixie leaves. She was not ready for her to grow up so fast. But she was growing up so fast. Chloe scratches her head and reaches into her pocket. She dials Dan’s number and waits. No response, it goes straight to voicemail. Her eyebrows furrow. She was worried about him.

Suddenly a thought occurs to her. She pops up off her bed and rushes downstairs to find Maze still packing her things.

Maze hears her approaching her door and turns around.

 

“I swear I didn’t know the lions would bang,” she says.

 

Chloe narrows her eyes then looks behind her to make sure Trixie isn’t around. She enters Maze’s bedroom and gently shuts the door.

Maze looks confused. Is this another Ella situation?

 

“I uhm … you, you find people, right? Like that’s your job ... to find people?” she asks.

 

“Decker, I’m not going to torture this chick for you. I mean, I could, but we both know that’s not what you want,” she says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “No, no I uhm …”

 

She walks closer to her, her voice lowered.

 

“I need you to find Dan,” she says.

 

Maze raises her eyebrows.

 

“Your ex?”

 

Chloe nods, “He was sent on leave a week ago because he was clearly stressed. I guess the whole Charlotte thing finally got to him. But, I haven’t been able to reach him in a few days. I’m getting worried.”

 

Maze nods her head, “I’m sure he’s fine, besides don't you have like a report you can file on him or something” she says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “He's not technically missing yet, he's just not answering his phone and he's now home ... Maze, this isn’t like him. Trixie keeps asking when he’s coming home, and I keep having to lie to her and tell her soon. But I don’t know when soon is. Can you just … just check on him to make sure he’s okay? I don’t know where he is but you’re good at tracking people.”

 

Maze sighs and nods, “Fine. After this bounty I’ll… see if I can find him.”

 

Chloe sighs a sigh of relief; she knows Maze will find him, and maybe this whole thing will be over.

 

“Thanks, Maze.”

 

Chloe turns to leave before stopping. She rotates on her heels and turns back to Maze.

 

“What … what exactly were you watching?” she asks.


	7. Eureka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Lucifer have a fight, Ella confides in Chloe, Ezria is having issues in Hell and Amenadiel figures out how to save Lucifer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter of somewhat angst and we will be back on track. Also my apologies for not posting this earlier, I took a break from writing to focus on finals week.

  
   
Chloe stands at the counter in the breakroom of the station. She wears dark shades, but even with not being able to see her eyes, it is clear she is looking off somewhere else. She stirs her coffee slowly. Suddenly, she exhales loudly. It carries with it a night full of thinking and crying and wondering what the hell she is supposed to do. She taps her spoon on the cup and takes a sip of it.

  
   
At least the coffee was right. _Everything else was shit_ , but the coffee was good.

  
   
She tosses the plastic spoon into the garbage and heads back to her desk. As she turns the corner, she sees Lucifer sitting at her desk; one leg crossed over the other, and his eyes cast downward. It was clear he was also in deep thought, but at least it looked like he had slept. She pauses for a moment. Should she wait until he leaves? Should she ignore him? She hadn’t come to a conclusion about how they would interact this morning, and quite frankly she didn’t want to interact with him.

  
   
It was still too painful. She couldn’t stomach the idea of another woman’s lips on his or the idea of him giving himself to someone else. She closes her eyes and tries to center herself. She knew this would be something she’d have to deal with, particularly with him but … if she were being honest, she had hoped it wouldn’t be. She had hoped she was different. Maybe that was the hardest part of this, she thinks, knowing she isn’t different.

  
   
She takes a deep breathe and ventures forward to her desk. He hears her shoes before he sees her. He looks up as she walks towards him, or rather her desk.

  
   
“Detective!” he says, sitting up, his hand placed over his stomach to soothe the nervousness.

  
   
“Mr. Morningstar,” she says coldly as she sets the coffee on her desk.

  
   
His eyebrows furrow, she was oddly proper this morning.

  
   
“Did you have a chance to look over the contract?” she asks as she takes a seat.

  
   
Or did he go back to do things _other_ than reading that contract, she wonders? She doesn’t want to say it, but it is stuck in the back of her mind, slowly prying open the wound.

  
   
He watches her, she is oddly calm.

  
   
“I did,’ he says cautiously, “I spent all night reading that thing.”

  
   
She turns to him, suddenly curious.

  
   
“You did?” she asks, her voice softer.

  
   
“Of course. Why would I sign something without reading it first? You know me better than that,” he says, smiling.

  
   
She looks at him, deep in thought. Does she know him? Perhaps she knows him better than he knows himself. Then why didn’t she know this would happen? Or maybe she did. _Maybe she was still in denial?_

  
   
“Good,” she says, snapping out of it and turning back to enter her password into her computer.

  
   
He continues to watch her. There is a tension there, but it isn’t sexual. He wants to ask her if she was upset about something, but he already has a good idea of what that might be.

  
   
“Listen, Detective,” he begins, leaning in closer to her, “About last night. I –“

  
   
“Mr. Morningstar,” she says, cutting him off quickly. She turns her head to him, “Does this pertain to the Johnson case?”

  
   
He looks at her oddly.

  
   
“The what?” he asks.

  
   
She sighs and reaches into her desk to pull out a file. She tosses it to him, and he catches it in his hands.

  
   
“You’ll need to get up to speed on the details,” she says, “we have an interview today.”

  
   
“Chloe,” he says, reaching out a hand and placing it on hers. She freezes and looks down at it, then him. He stares into her eyes. Even with shades on, it feels like he is looking into her.

  
   
“Can we discuss this? … please?” he asks.

  
   
She removes her hand, “There’s nothing to discuss,” she says, pulling papers from the top of her desk.

  
   
“I beg to differ,” he says.

 

For some reason, that phrase aggravates the _shit_ out of her, and she breaks her concentration.

  
   
“You know what, Lucifer,” she says, turning to him fully.

 

It’s clear he has her attention now, and she’s no longer trying to feign like she doesn’t know who he is.

  
   
“You really want to talk about it?” she asks, an aggravation behind her words.

  
   
“Yes,” he says as if to suggest it was silly to think he wouldn’t.

  
   
“You _really_ want to know how I feel?” she asks him.

  
   
“Yes, though it's apparent you’re still upset with me, and for a good reason I might-“

  
   
“No,” she says, shaking her head, “I’m past upset Lucifer. I’m tired. _I’m exhausted_. I am mentally incapable of chasing you anymore.”

  
   
She looks around to make sure no one can hear her before leaning in, “You told me you loved me, and I thought finally … _finally_ , you would get it.”

  
   
She shakes her head, a sadness bleeding through her voice, “but it’s clear you haven’t. Maybe it’s time I stop thinking you ever will.”

  
   
He doesn’t know what to say to that. She was right, and of course she was. She was never the one to be wrong about him. Maybe his actions, but never him. He didn’t know what it meant to be in love; to only desire one person. To be frank, he hadn’t thought about the idea until her. Now it was all he could think about.

  
   
“I do try,” he says as if that would make it better.

  
   
“I know,” she says sadly, “but … it’s not enough anymore. Is it? Maybe we should … maybe we should just go back to the way things were.”

  
   
He sits back in his chair, a displeased look on his face. He doesn’t like this idea, he doesn’t like it at all. Chloe sighs and grabs the papers off of her desk before walking towards Ella’s lab. Lucifer sits there, watching her walk away. Could he really go back to before? Did he want to? He had taken a look behind the veil he had voluntary cast over his eyes. He couldn’t just go back to seeing the world through rose-colored lenses.

  
   
The idea itself of being with any other woman besides her was … difficult. Considering how his body wouldn’t even react to the woman the previous night, perhaps it wasn’t just a physical thing. If he pushed through that feeling he could have done it, he was never the type to back down from a challenge. But … even just now thinking about it felt … _wrong._

  
   
And what of the detective? Could he really go back to working around her and not … feeling? Could he really watch her move on and be with another man? His chest tenses at that idea and his breathing shallows. He really doesn’t like that idea. No, this won’t do.

 

He turns to her desk and sees her still-hot cup of coffee. She had been so eager to get away from him that she left it.

  
   
\--  
 

  
Inside Ella’s Lab, Ella sits at her lab table, jotting notes down onto a clipboard. She looks up as Chloe enters.

  
   
“Hey!” she says happily before her smile fades.

 

_Why is Chloe wearing glasses indoors?_

  
   
“You okay?” Ella asks.

  
   
“Fine,” she says, crossing her arms, “Do we have that coroners report yet?”

  
   
Ella slouches in her chair and sighs.

  
   
“Unfortunately, no. I got a text from the tech this morning saying they had a call-out last night. Didn’t get to all the bodies.”

  
   
Ella’s eyes turn as Lucifer enters the lab behind Chloe.

  
   
“Hey, big guy! How’s the first day back?” she asks.

  
   
Lucifer opens his mouth to say something, but Chloe interrupts, “So we have to wait another day for the report?”

  
   
Ella nods, “ Afraid so. They said they would try to finish it today but … who knows.”

  
   
Lucifer’s attention turns to Chloe. He watches her, the wheels behind his eyes turning.

 

He slides the cup of coffee she left on her desk in front of her. Her eyes move down to it, then up to him. Their eyes meet for a brief moment before Chloe turns back to Ella, intent on concentrating on what she is saying.

 

He couldn’t imagine not loving her. He couldn’t imagine having to stand by her day by day and not being able to hold her at night. And what of spending the night in her bed? Sex or no sex. He couldn’t imagine not hearing her sweetly wish him a good night. He had spent every night before this wondering what she was doing or who she was doing it with. He couldn’t go back to the answer not being _him_.

  
   
Life before her, he thought, had been enjoyable. It has been an open bar of women and endless desire. But she removed those rose-colored glasses, and he sees just how empty it really was. He had been sleepwalking, and she had woken him up. She had made him feel things and had opened the door to thinking life could be more than it was. He couldn’t just close it. He couldn’t just … _go back_.

  
   
Ella watches how he stares at Chloe and turns back to Chloe,” Uh … oh, I did get this though!”

  
   
Ella reaches into a nearby file and shuffles some papers. Chloe watches her then turns her eyes slowly to Lucifer, who stares at her intently. His eyebrows furrowed like he were upset, or that he just realized something.

  
   
“They were able to clean the wound and get a better picture of the fracture …,” Ella says as she turns back to Chloe only to find her and Lucifer locked in a gaze.

  
   
“I can’t,” he says to Chloe.

  
   
Ella looks at them oddly. She’s clearly stuck in between a personal conversation with them yet again.

  
   
“I can’t go back,” he says to her, “I can’t … not love you.”

  
   
Chloe turns to Ella, whose eyes widen.

  
   
“Give us one second,” Chloe says as she pushes Lucifer into a corner of the room.

 

Ella turns away from them.

 

 _Lucifer just dropped the L-word_ , she thinks, _holy shit_.

  
   
“Lucifer,” Chloe says softly, her voice low so that their conversation can be somewhat private.

 

He knows what she is about to say, he can hear it in her voice.

  
   
“Detective, I can fix this,” he says.

  
   
She closes her eyes, she can’t cry anymore. Especially not at work. Especially not over him.

  
   
“This … you can’t fix this,” she says, “we’re just too different.”

  
   
“I’d like to think that is what makes us work,” he says, trying to liven the situation with a smile.

  
   
She shakes her head, “Lucifer…”

  
   
“Nothing happened last night,” he says, his smile suddenly gone when she doesn’t take the bait;  an unfamiliar panic setting in.

  
   
 ”I promise you, detective. She did kiss me, yes, but it was not what I wanted.”

  
   
She shakes her head, “You don’t know what you want, Lucifer. That’s the problem.”

  
   
“I do. I want you, just you,” he says.

 

She shakes her head, trying to keep him out of it.

 

“And even if I didn’t know that," he says, "nothing would have happened. My body was not responsive at all to her. And she was very eager in her attempts.”

  
   
Chloe’s eyebrows fall.

  
   
“What?” she asks, the hurt in her voice sounds like he just drove a knife into an open wound.

  
   
She pauses, trying to wrap her head around what he just said. It was bad enough that he was making out with another woman, now … he admits he let another woman grope him? _Why would he tell her that?_ She trails her eyes to him. He goes to say something else, but she stops him by raising her hand. She can’t process this right now, she can’t even look at him right now. It hurts too much. She turns to leave this conversation, no longer interested in what he has to say.

  
   
“Detective, I controlled myself,” he says.

  
   
She snaps to him, hurt and anger in her voice, “Control?” she asks, “maybe if you had a … _modicum more_ of self-control, she wouldn’t have been in your penthouse in the first place!”

  
   
He opens his mouth to say something, and she stops him.

  
   
“Don’t,” she says, “please … just don’t.”

  
   
He closes his mouth and doesn’t say anything.

  
   
“Go home, Lucifer,” she says, her eyes cast away from him, “I can hold interviews by myself.”

  
   
“But … Detective, don’t you need me?” he asks as she walks back over to Ella.

  
   
“No,” she says harshly, “I don’t _need_ you.”

 

Ella has turned to stare at them, no longer interested in giving them privacy. He watches as Chloe leans on the table, her hand over her eyes. He turns to Ella, who looks at him with pity.

  
   
“Right,” he says solemnly as he heads towards the door.

 

He pauses and turns briefly to see Chloe still leaned on the table. She said she didn’t need him, but what she really meant was she didn’t want him. His chest tightens again. Was it really over? He can’t go back.  
   
He just … _can’t._  
   
He exits and walks solemnly up the stairs leaving the station.  
 

  
\--

  
   
Inside Ella’s lab, Ella stands awkwardly on the other side of her lab table. She looks at Chloe then back to her documents.

  
   
“So …,” Ella begins, “I guess that explains the sunglasses?”

  
   
“Ella,” she says, sighing exasperatedly.

 

She doesn’t even lookup. It’s the kind of sigh that tells Ella she’s been thinking about this all night and is just … tired.

  
   
“Okay well … a bit of good news,” Ella says, getting back to the case.

  
   
Chloe looks up from her hands briefly. Ella turns to the large screen and pulls up and image sent over from the coroner’s office. It shows a cleaned headwound that details the size and shape of the indent into the skull. Chloe looks at it for a moment before her eyebrows raise.

  
   
Ella smiles, “They weren’t able to do the autopsy like I said, but they were able to get a clean image of the fracture. I don’t think the table is what did this. In fact, I don’t believe she hit the table at all.”

  
   
Chloe stands up and walks around the other side of the lab table as if trying to get a better view.

  
   
“So, the blood on the table was planted,” she says, struggling to get Lucifer out of her mind.

  
   
Ella nods.

  
   
“Based off of the location of the wound and the shape of the fracture, the table couldn’t have killed her. Plus, it was cheap. The inside was glass, but the edge is composite wood. The most damage that would have done is a deep bruise and a cracked table. Whoever did this probably tried to frame it as an accident by planting blood on the table.

  
   
Chloe shakes her head, “that wouldn’t make sense. What about the lacerations? If they were trying to make it seem like an accident ...”

 

Chloe thinks for a moment, "They would have removed the rope."

  
   
Ella nods, “Killers are rarely smart. I bet you whoever tied her up still has whatever they used to restrain her.”

  
   
Chloe nods, “Any lead on the restraints?”

 

Ella shakes her head, “No, but one of the officer’s did canvas the neighborhood yesterday and turns out the neighbors two doors down has a security camera.”

  
   
Chloe’s eyes raise. She’s intrigued.

  
   
Ella pulls up the video on the monitor. The camera points down the road and shows an SUV pulling into the house two doors down. The garage door opens, the SUV pulls in, and the garage door closes. Chloe shakes her head and walks around the lab table.

  
   
“Play it again?” she asks.

  
   
Ella hits play again.

  
   
For a brief moment after the car pulls in, but before the garage door begins to close, a dark shadow crosses behind the glow of the red tail lights.

  
   
“Back up a few second,” Chloe says. Ella complies.

  
   
“There,” she says. Ella pauses the video and walks closer to the screen.

  
   
Ella sees it and nods.

  
   
“Point of entry. They slipped in when the garage was open,” Chloe says.

  
   
She thinks for a moment. They would have been waiting for her to get home, which indicates they knew she would be coming home soon. It also indicated that they knew she would be home alone, or at least had some inkling.

  
   
"It's someone she knew," Ella says.

 

"Or someone who knew her," Chloe replies.

 

Chloe turns her eyes back to the screen. She needed to speak with Emily.

  
   
Chloe nods. “Alright well, keep me posted,” she says.

  
   
She turns to head back to her desk.

  
   
“I hope I’m not being intrusive…” Ella says.

  
   
Chloe pauses and turns back to Ella.

  
   
“It’s just … you and Lucifer remind me so much of Gerard and Evelyn. They eventually work things out so … maybe it's not impossible,” she says.

  
   
Chloe looks at her oddly, “Who?”

  
   
“Gerard and Evelyn,” Ella says as if those two names should ring a bell.

 

It’s painfully evident by the look on Chloe’s face that she doesn’t.

  
   
“Please tell me you know what the Blood Moon Saga is?” Ella says.

  
   
Chloe shakes her head, “No … can’t say that I do.”

  
   
Ella raises her hand to her hands in shock, “How? How do you not know what that is? It’s like only the best-selling book out right now.”

  
   
Chloe narrows her eyes and smiles, “That’s cute. You think I have time to read.”

  
   
Ella walks around the lab table.

  
   
“It’s so great, Chloe! It’s about this eternal vampire who falls in love with a nurse who works the night shift, and they have to navigate their burgeoning love while a bunch of other stuff is going on.”

  
   
Ella sighs happily, “It’s so good. You should read it.”

  
   
Chloe tilts her head, “ _Absolutely not_.”

  
   
“Please? It’s perfect. It might help you figure out what to do about you and Lucifer’s relationship.”

  
   
Chloe shakes her head, “Lucifer and I don’t have a relationship,” she says sadly.

  
   
“Oh, come on. You two have literally been eye-fucking each other for months now. Don’t do this to me. It’s like watching a live version of the second book.”

  
   
Chloe looks at her. Even through the sunglasses, Ella can feel her disinterest in this topic.

  
   
“Right, well I’m just saying… it will work itself out,” Ella says.

  
   
Chloe sighs and walks back to the lab table. She leans on it.

  
   
“I just … I have too much going on to worry about him. You know? Between Dan not responding to any of my phone calls and Trixie being needy … it’s too much to then also have a needy partner.”

  
   
“Oh come on, Lucifer isn’t that needy,” Ella says.

  
   
Chloe looks at her. She reaches up and takes off her glasses to reveal her red and puffy eyes. Even still, she looks at her, indicating Ella had no idea what she is talking about.

  
   
“Ooo,” Ella says, her face changing when she sees her eyes.

  
   
Chloe slips her sunglasses back on.

  
   
“That bad, huh?” she says.

  
   
“Oh yeah,” Ella says. She pauses and thinks for a moment.

  
   
“I might actually have something for that,” she says as she walks around the lab and reaches into a cooler.

  
   
Chloe sighs and begins to chuckle at herself,” What am I doing Ella? Life was decidedly less complicated before Lucifer and his … angels and demons.”

  
   
She shakes her head.

  
   
Ella turns to her, a tube of eye cream in her hands.

  
   
“Come on, it’s not that bad. Lucifer isn’t different than any other guy. Minus the whole … devil thing.”

  
   
She comes around the counter, and Chloe sits up and looks at the tube.

  
   
“What is that?” she asks.

  
   
“It’s cool cream. It’ll help with the swelling. Leave it on for a few minutes then wipe it off and you’ll be good as new.”

  
   
Chloe reaches up and takes her sunglasses off. She looks at Ella for a moment then takes the tube.

  
   
“Either way,” Chloe says, setting her sunglasses on the table, “I have responsibilities, you know? I just … I can’t focus solely on him anymore.”

  
   
Ella grabs her tablet off the table nearby and turns her attention to it.

  
   
“I mean, what am I thinking? Trying something with the devil? ..”

  
   
She starts to rub the cream on her eyes.

  
   
“No, that’s not fair," Chloe says to herself, "He’s clearly different than we are led to think.”

  
   
She pauses and thinks again, lowering the tube of eye cream.

  
   
“I don’t know what is real anymore,” Chloe says sadly. She turns her attention to Ella, who is deep into her tablet.

  
   
Chloe turns her eyes to the tablet.

  
   
“What are you doing?” she asks.

  
   
Ella looks up at her and smiles.

  
   
“I just forwarded you the e-book of the first Blood Moon Saga,” she says setting the tablet down.

  
   
Chloe laughs and shakes her head. It was a welcome relief. She turns her eyes back to Ella, and her smile fades.

  
   
“I’ve been a bad friend,” she says, closing the cap of eye cream, “I hadn’t even asked you how you were doing … you know, since …”

  
   
“Since I found out Lucifer was actually the devil?”

  
   
Chloe smiles and nods.

  
   
Ella sighs and takes the cream from Chloe, before heading back to her cooler.

  
   
“Surprisingly, I’m okay with it,” she says, turning back to Chloe.

  
   
“I mean, other than actually speaking with him, I knew he existed. His portrayal is definitely different in the books but … the books are usually better than the movies, right? He’s a much better bad guy in the books, “Ella says, smiling.

  
   
Chloe smiles, faintly, and nods.

  
   
The room dips into silence.

  
   
“So you’re okay then? Everything _good_?” Chloe asks.

  
   
Ella nods.

  
   
“Good!” Chloe says, suddenly cheery. She stands up and puts her sunglasses back on, “Well … back to work, I guess…”

  
   
Her oddly cheery disposition quickly fades as she starts thinking about him again. She had been excited for him to come back to work. Then she had been angry and sent him away. Now she was angry at herself that she missed him.

  
   
She pushes open the door of Ella’s lab and is about to step out.

  
   
“There is one thing, though,” Ella says.

  
   
Chloe stops and turns to her, “yeah?”

  
   
Ella searches her mind trying to find the right words.

  
   
“I, uh … kind of had sex with Maze.”

  
   
Chloe raises her eyebrows and pauses a shock hits her. Then confusion. Then curiosity.

  
   
She steps away from the door and lets it close again.

  
   
“Work can wait,” she says, so many questions bouncing around behind the confusion in her eyes.  
   
   
\--

  
   
Ezria walks the alleyways of Hell. Despite becoming familiar with the commonalities of mortal punishment, there is still much to see here. He peaks into cells, finding what he sees to no longer be shocking. Instead, he is curious. If he had to admit, he rather enjoys it. It makes him feel … _good_.

  
   
At the end of this alley, he comes to a small clearing where a few demons sit around a fire pit. Inside the pit, a human arm rotates on a spitfire. He pauses for a moment, watching them. He hates that they have to eat. It’s … _disgusting_.

  
   
He approaches them as they laugh and speak. The moment one sees him, the conversation stops, and they all turn.

  
   
Ezria notices the shift in their demeanor and is pleased. He approaches them and looks them in the eye one by one. He appreciates that is he given the glory he deserves as a member of God’s family. His moment of pride is cut short, however as one of the demons slouches on his stool and spreads his legs, leaning forward while resting one arm.

  
   
“What the fuck do you want?” he asks angrily as if Ezria was imposing.

  
   
Ezria is taken back for a second. How dare they think they can speak to him. How dare they think they can speak to him in such a manner. He stands tall and raises his jet black wings.

  
   
“I will not be spoken to in such a way-“ he begins.

 

All of them groan and turn back to the fire. They go back to their conversation as if Ezria is not there.

  
   
“Pay me heed!” he screams over the conversation, “I demand you-“

  
   
The demon closest to him stands up and unsheathe a blade by his side.

  
   
“You demand what?” he asks, bringing the blade to Ezria’s face.

  
   
Ezria looks at him, then at the blade. An inky blackness begins to pool in his eyes as they go from a clear hazel to endless darkness. Suddenly, his voice is three octaves lower, and he speaks with an eerie calmness.

  
   
“I demand you fear me,” he says.

  
   
The demon chuckles and removes his blade. He turns back to the other demons who also begin laughing.

  
   
“Well, I don’t. None of us do,” he says, sitting back on his stool.

  
   
“Like I’m going to be afraid of an angel who let a cage contain him,” the demon says laughing.

  
   
Another demon chimes in and reaches forward, ripping a burned finger off the arm roasting in the center of the pile.

  
   
“Here,” he says, tossing the finger at Ezria. It hits him on the face and then drops with a light ping to the ground.

  
   
“Eat something. It will make you feel better,” he says.

  
   
The demons all laugh. Ezria looks down at the ground to the smoldering finger, then back to the demons who go back to their conversation. His eyes clear up again, and he turns sadly away. They didn’t respect him. They were right, how could they? He had spent all his time locked in a cell and didn’t even fight it. He had spent so much time thinking maybe he deserved it, but reality was starting to hit him.

 

He had always been caged. He had always been used for someone else’s plan. What about what he wanted? What about what he … _desired._

  
   
\--

  
   
The elevator doors to Lucifer’s penthouse opens, and he stands inside the elevator; still. His mind is clearly somewhere else. He doesn’t move, he just stares forward.  The doors begin to close on him, and suddenly he reaches a hand forward to stop them. He walks forward, but he still looks dazed.

  
   
Was it really over? Was love really that fragile? All he ever heard was that it was beautiful and sweet. He supposes he understands all those break up songs now. He thought they were overemotional, but they were right … _love hurts_.

  
   
“Lucifer!” he hears.

  
   
He looks up to see Amenadiel sitting at his bar. On the bar in front of him is a large decanter of water and a single glass. Suddenly his eyes move from dazed to annoyed. _What was he doing here?_

  
   
“If you’re here to further destroy my penthouse,” he says, suddenly very aware of his surroundings, “you’ll have to wait until I am actually gone.”

  
   
Amenadiel chuckles and stands up from the bar.

  
   
“I told you I wasn’t going anywhere, Luci. Not until we figure this out.”

  
   
Lucifer scoffs and slips the jacket off his body, draping it over the end of the bar.

  
   
“There is nothing to figure out, brother,” he says, approaching the bar and moving to pour himself a drink, “If it’s true that this miserable existence will end soon then quite frankly, I welcome it.”

  
   
Amenadiel raises his hand and stops him from pouring his drink, vying for his full attention. Lucifer looks at him as if he was overstepping boundaries.

  
   
“If we don’t figure out what it is and how to stop it, you’ll lose everything. Your ties with the silver city and your ties with hell," he says.

  
   
Lucifer scoffs and continues to reach for the decanter to pour himself a drink.

  
   
Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows, “Luci, this is serious.”

  
   
Lucifer turns to Amenadiel, hatred behind his eyes.

  
   
“So?” he asks, “Father would love to see me fall again. Why not just give him what he wants?”

  
   
He brings the drink to his lips, a sadness developing just behind his eyes.

  
   
“His will be done, after all,” Lucifer says.

  
   
Maybe this was all Father’s doing. Father had put the detective in his path so that he would fall in love with her. He knew she was special. He knew Lucifer would fuck it up like he’s fucked up everything. What was even the point of fighting anymore? Was there even a point? Or was it simply just to hurt him… _to hurt her._

  
   
Amenadiel watches him, the urgency in his eyes fading into something else. This wasn’t standard Lucifer disinterest, it was something else.

  
   
“Is everything okay?” he asks, suddenly more interested in getting to the bottom of that look.

  
   
Lucifer looks at him, annoyed.

  
   
“Why do you care?” he says, lowering a glass, “ You want to figure out how to get me back to hell?”

  
   
Lucifer scoffs and takes a sip.

  
   
“Well, save your energy. I might just go voluntarily.”

  
   
Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows and twists his face in confusion. Now he knows something is wrong. Lucifer would never willingly go back to hell. His father’s words play in his head again. He would be cleansed, then surrender …

 

He narrows his eyes. _Was this Lucifer surrendering?_

  
   
Lucifer stares forward, watching himself in the mirror. He can’t go back. He can’t go back to being next to her every day and just ignoring what that feeling in his chest was. Not when he had spoken it out loud and given it life. Not when he had dared to imagine he might be worthy of love or that he stood a chance to be happy. Instead of walking the earth; _lost._

  
   
He can’t go back to sleeping in his penthouse, knowing she wouldn’t be next to him ever again. No, he’d rather spend his eternity in hell than a single second more of knowing he couldn’t love her, or that she didn't love him. His eyes turn to Amenadiel for a second, then fall as Amenadiel stares back at him.  
   
His shoulders fall, and he sighs.

  
   
“The detective and I are no more,” he says solemnly as he looks into his glass.

  
   
Amenadiel shakes his head, “What? How?”

  
   
“She is under the false impression that I was intimate with another woman last night,” he says, "But I told her several times this was not the case.”

  
   
He sighs and looks at himself in the mirror.

  
   
“She doesn’t believe me,” he says, solemnly.

  
   
He stares at himself, and for a moment, he sees it. All the self-loathing and hatred. All the favors and desire’s he’s fulfilled. It’s all been one big lie, to convince himself of anything more than the absolute truth.  
   
_He was alone_. He had always been alone, and maybe he would always be alone.

  
  
_Perhaps he deserved that._

  
   
His eyes begin to water, but he fights it back. They dry up instantly.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head in confusion, “What did you do to make her think that?”

  
   
Lucifer turns to him and opens his mouth, only to close it again. He knows it looks bad, but having to say it out loud is hard. He knows it was his fault. _It was always his fault_. So instead, he says nothing. He stares into the almost empty glass in his hand only to find what he is looking for isn’t there; not anymore. He sips it anyway, the taste is bitter.

  
   
Amenadiel sighs and takes a seat back onto the stool. If this was Lucifer surrendering, If returning to hell and staying there was what would change him from an Angel … for the first time he had to actually consider how he would make Lucifer stay on earth.

  
   
“I too love a woman,” Amenadiel says, staring down at his hands, "A human."

 

He’s thought about Linda every single day since the last time they spoke; the last time he felt her body beneath his.

  
   
He turns to Lucifer, “I know what it is like to lose someone you love so dearly.”

  
   
Lucifer turns to him, his eyes hopeless and the door he had managed to pry open almost shut again.

  
   
“I think about Linda every day,” he says, a sad smile on his face, “even if we can’t be together, I will always love her, and protect her and keep her best interest in mind.”

  
   
He looks back at Lucifer.

  
   
“But love is … the most frustrating and _illogical_ emotion mortals have ever come up with.”

 

Lucifer lets out a slight guffaw. He agreed. Love was … confusing.

  
   
“Do you know how many times Linda and I fought over the most simplistic of things? I left the toilet seat up, I left the milk out, I left feathers in the bathroom again..”

  
   
Lucifer looks at him oddly.

  
   
“Molting,” he says. Lucifer nods in agreeance and sets his glass on the table.

  
   
“Love is … a minefield. And every day is a battle to not step into something. Most of the times you do, and you have to figure out how to defuse it before it blows up in your face. But … if you make it through the day, you get to fall asleep next to the only person in the universe who would willingly wake up and walk those mines with you all over again.”

  
   
Amenadiel’s eyes tear up. He really misses her. For once, Lucifer understands that look.

  
   
The room is silent as they both dive deep into their minds. Lucifer shakes his head.  
  
   
“You and I were raised differently. I was still young when I was cast out,” he says, “too young.”

  
   
“That doesn’t matter,” Amenadiel says.

  
   
“Of course, it matters!” Lucifer says, his sadness replaced by reserved anger.

  
   
“You had a family Amenadiel. You had the whole of God’s Army at your side. What did I have? Who did I have?”

  
   
Amenadiel goes to open his mouth, but everyone he could think of is not the best of examples.

  
   
“I had no one,” he says, his anger subsiding a bit, “mortals talk so much of unconditional love but … I don’t know what that means. To me, love has a condition.”

  
   
He turns back to his drink, “and perhaps I’ve broken her one condition.”

  
   
The room is silent again. Amenadiel doesn’t know what to say. He tries to think of something; anything. Lucifer turns to him, a fire behind his eyes that burns bright blue and a well of tears forming inside his lids.

 

The damn breaks and a tear falls down his cheek.

  
   
“I can’t fix this, brother,” he says, “ _I can’t fix this._ ”

  
   
Amenadiel tosses him a soft smile and places a hand on his shoulder.

  
   
“Chloe still loves you,” he says, “No one thing you do can change that.”

  
   
Lucifer turns back to his drink. He didn’t deserve another chance to hurt her.

  
   
“There are a lot of things mortals fight for. Every war in the world has been fought over money, power, fame … Father. But the only thing really worth it is love.”

  
   
Lucifer turns to him, a sadness still behind his flaming blue eyes. Amenadiel sees something there, a small ray of hope. He smiles to himself, all he needed to do was play on Lucifer's pride now, and he would do the rest. He thinks for a moment before he finds the angle.

  
   
“Now … if Daniel could fight for Chloe’s love, why not you.”

  
   
Lucifer’s eyebrows fall, and the flame begins to fade. The wheels in his head are turning.

  
   
“He’s not stronger than you, is he?” Amenadiel asks.

  
   
“No,” he says offended, “Detective Douche?”

  
   
Amenadiel smiles, “Then why are you okay with giving up after one mine?”

  
   
Lucifer looks at him, he eyes him up and down as if not recognizing this Amenadiel.

  
   
“One thing I've learned with mortal women is they require more than your word. Sometimes, they require action. Chloe knows you’re a man of your word, but what does she know of your actions?” Amenadiel asks.

  
   
Lucifer narrows his eyes. He stares at Amenadiel, the wheels turning behind his eyes. He hated it, but Amenadiel was right. He had told Chloe he loved her, and that he would never lie to her. But what did he have to show her? What did he have to counteract the endless women he paraded before her? She was a different woman than all the other woman he had known, and he loved her for it. He needed more than a promise to her.

 

Suddenly, he has a list of things to do and if he started now, he could have it completed by the days end. He stands up and grabs his coat off the bar.

  
   
“Where are you going?” Amenadiel asks.

  
   
Lucifer slips his jacket on and buttons it. He looks up to Amenadiel with a very flat and purposeful tone.

  
   
“I know this is part of your ploy for whatever … apocalyptic reading you’ve received from dear old dad, but …”

  
   
His tone falls sweetly, and his demeanor changes.

  
   
“ … Thank you,” he says as if the words out of his mouth and specifically in Amenadiel’s direction were an odd taste.

 

 Amenadiels smiles, it was odd from him, but it was nice.

 

“Now, I must leave to attend to some things, and I no longer trust you alone in my penthouse so …”

  
   
Amenadiel's smile widens.

 

 _And back to the same old Lucifer_ , he thinks.

 

Lucifer goes to press the button to the elevator and stands there as if waiting for Amenadiel to join him. Amenadiel’s eyes glance down to the decanter of water in front of him.

  
   
“Before we go,” he says, “perhaps you might like some water.”

  
   
He slides the glass of water over the Lucifer. Lucifer looks at him oddly.

  
   
“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to roofie me, brother.”

  
   
Amenadiel chuckles.

  
   
“I was just thinking that if you’re going to apologize for infidelity-,” he says.

  
   
Lucifer gives him a stern look.

  
   
“ _Alleged_ infidelity,” he corrects himself to a pleased Lucifer, “perhaps having your breath smell like booze isn’t a great idea.”

  
   
Lucifer looks at him suspiciously. He glances him up and down before coming to the conclusion he was probably correct.

  
   
Slowly he walks over to the table and picks up the glass. He looks at it for a moment then to Amenadiel who tries to look casual.

  
   
Lucifer brings it up to his lips, hesitates for a moment, before taking four large swigs. He sets the empty glass down and wipes his lips.

  
   
“Alright,” he says, “Now out with you. Unless you’d like to stomp more Lo Mein into my rug?”

  
   
Amenadiel chuckles as Lucifer turns and heads to the elevator. His smile falls, and a face of fear washes over him. Lucifer had just chugged a glass of holy water, and nothing happened.  
   
Father was right. Lucifer is changing. Amenadiel had to make sure Lucifer and Chloe worked out. _He had to make sure he stayed on earth._

  
   
\--

  
   
Chloe leans against Ella’s lab table, a look of pure intrigue on her face. She has removed her sunglasses, her eyes looking more normal with each passing minute.  
   
   
“So … you and Maze … are you like… ?” she says, questioning floating around in her head.

  
   
Ella sighs, “We’re just friends. It was just a random hookup but … I feel awful about it. Like, I didn’t hold up my end of the bargain, you know?”

 

Chloe nods, “you dined and dashed,” she says.

  
   
Ella raises her eyebrows and looks down at her feet, “Well, she did more dining than I did,” she says.

  
   
Chloe chuckles.  Ella smiles and blushes.

  
   
Chloe lets go a relieved sigh. It felt good to laugh.

  
   
“So then what’s the problem? I’m sure you two have settled things right? Maze doesn’t seem like the relationship type so … I think you’re in the clear.”

  
   
Ella shakes her head and approaches the lab table. She sets her clipboard down onto it.

  
   
“That’s the thing. She hasn’t texted me or even called me since she’s been back. I know it’s only been a day and I shouldn’t expect anything but … it’s got me freaking out, you know?”

  
   
“So text her,” Chloe says shrugging.

  
   
“Oh, no. I can’t do that. And look like I’m desperate or something?”

  
   
Chloe narrows her eyes.

  
   
“So you won’t text her and I can tell you she won’t text you," Chloe says, trying to impart what a big deal Ella is making about this.

 

"She’s probably forgotten about it by now, to be honest," Chloe continues.

  
   
“Gee, thanks,” Ella says.

 

That makes her feel so much better. The idea that that night was forgettable. Maybe for Maze but Ella was having a hard time getting it out of her head.

  
   
“No,” Chloe says, “I just mean … you know, she’s busy right now. I’m sure when things cool down, she’ll come to talk to you.”

  
   
“Yeah, maybe,” she says, mindlessly leafing through documents on her table. She wasn’t even looking at them, it was just something for her hands to do.

  
   
“Do you think you would, I don’t know. Do it again?” Chloe asks cheekily.

  
   
Ella shakes her head, “ _Absolutely not_. Sex with friends just … it gets messy. You know?”

  
   
Suddenly, a loud rustling in the bullpen catches Chloe and Ella’s attention.

  
   
“Get this _crazy bitch_ away from me!” a man yells.

 

Chloe and Ella look at one another then head to the lab door. Chloe opens it and steps out, followed by Ella. At the bottom of the steps to the bullpen, a large man with face tattoos and a leather jacket stands cuffed. His face is bloodied, and his coat is ripped to shreds.

  
   
“I want my fucking lawyer!” the man screams as an officer comes to take him from a very pleased and unimpressed Maze.

 

The officer takes him, looks at Maze then at the man and seems confused.

  
   
“You didn’t have to smack him around so much,” he says.

  
   
Maze smiles and shifts her weight onto one leg.

  
   
She shrugs, “I didn’t _have_ to.”

  
   
The officer shakes his head, and she laughs.

  
   
“What?! He came at me first. Self-Defense.”

  
   
Chloe crosses her arms and turns to Ella. Ella looks forward at Maze, her chest suddenly rising and falling rapidly. Her eyes cascade up her tight-fitting pants, and up to the equally as fitting white top, she wears. She can’t help but remember what she looks like beneath her clothes.

  
   
“Okay, maybe _one_ more time,” she says.

  
   
Chloe smiles widely to herself as Maze walks over.

  
   
“Can you believe these guys?” Maze says, “They want this asshole for murder, but he can’t show up with a black eye without needing to call the UN? Seems like he deserves much more than a shiner to me.”

  
   
She stops in front of Chloe and Ella. She looks at Ella then at Chloe. The looks both women are giving her right now are odd.

  
   
“What’s going on?” she asks as if she hasn’t noticed they were looking at her oddly.

  
   
“Nothing,” Chloe says with a cheeky smile on her face.

 

Maze’s eyes slowly move to Ella’s. Ella tries to look away, but she can’t. Maze eye’s narrow and a small smile comes to her mouth.

  
   
“This is because we had sex, isn’t it?” Maze asks.

  
   
Ella’s face immediately becomes 20 shades of red as she looks around. Luckily everyone seems too busy with their work to be paying attention. Chloe crosses her arms and just smiles widely. Suddenly her phone begins to buzz, and she reaches down to look at it. She reads it for a moment and sighs.

  
   
“Emily Mathers is here,” she says, “I have to go get ready for her interview.”

 

She leaves and walks a few feet to her desk.  
   
Maze turns to Ella.

  
   
“I told you that you would regret it,” she says.

  
   
The lieutenant briefly looks up just in time to see Ella grab Maze’s hand and drag her into the lab.

  
   
\---  
 

  
Inside the lab, Ella hurriedly walks behind the lab table while Maze casually strolls towards the table and leans against it, a wicked smile on her face.

  
   
“I was right, wasn’t I?” she asks.

  
Ella composes herself and turns to Maze.

  
   
“No. I don’t regret it. We are both adults and … you know, things happen. We agreed beforehand.”

  
   
“Cool,” Maze says standing up, done with that conversation, “Now, when can I come over? I made it to that map where you have to drive the tank and I just … I couldn’t get past that third checkpoint for some reason.”

  
   
Ella narrows her eyes, momentarily confused about what this conversation is about. Then it clicks.

 

“Are you talking about Battle War?”

  
   
Maze nods, “Yeah. I did some internet searching on my phone today, and I think I figured it out.”

  
   
Ella shakes her head, “So you’re … you’re not upset with me?”

  
   
Maze looks at her oddly.

  
   
“Why would I be upset with you?”

  
Ella crosses her arms.

  
   
“You know …”

  
   
She says. Maze narrows her eyes. She doesn’t know.

  
   
“Because I fell asleep before … you know,“ she says, trying to help Maze form her own conclusion.

  
   
Maze tilts her head, “Oh,” she says, “because I didn’t cum?”

  
   
Ella checks to make sure the door is closed. It is. She turns her eyes to the glass wall that separates her lab from the Lieutenant’s lab. The Lieutenant looks up at her, then back down her paper. Ella walks a little closer to Maze, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  
   
“I uhm … just wanted to make sure we were cool? Maybe, I don’t know … if you wanted…”

  
   
Maze smiles and leans in close to Ella. A little too close to be just friends, a discerning eye might think.

  
   
“You want to do it again, don’t you?” she says, a pleased tone to her voice.

  
   
Ella uncrosses her arms.

  
   
“No! I just … I figured it was only fair. You know, even the playing field.”

  
   
Maze raises her eyebrows and leans back.

  
   
“Hate to be the bearer of bad news Lopez, but it ain’t happening.”

  
   
“What?” Ella asks.

  
   
“Yeah, If it didn’t happen the first time probably won’t happen the second.”

  
   
“Well that’s not fair,” Ella says, “I was drunk. I’ll be sober this time.”

  
   
Maze shrugs, “I’m not saying we can’t, I’m just trying to prep you for the already established outcome.”

  
   
Ella nods, “You don’t really think I can, do you?”

  
   
Maze tilts her head with a smile, “I wouldn’t be too upset, Lopez. Most humans need coaching.”

  
   
Ella narrows her eyes and nods. She liked a challenge.

  
   
“You’re on,” she says, walking around her lab table.

  
   
“Tonight, _my place_.”

  
   
Maze shrugs, “ Alright, but afterward we are playing Battle War, right?"

 

Ella sighs and drops her shoulders, “ _Fine_.”

  
   
Maze fist pumps and smiles. She turns to walk towards the door and pauses. She reaches into her jacket pocket and grabs onto something. She slowly turns around and walks back to the desk.

  
   
“Oh, uh. I got you something. You know … from the trip,” she says.

 

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a little keychain with an angel on it. Ella reaches out and takes it, she looks at it sweetly for a moment before turning to Maze.

  
   
“You brought me a souvenir … from hell?’

  
   
Maze shrugs, “I was told it was customary when you go on trips to bring things back. Hell doesn’t have a gift shop so …next best place is a vegas hotel.”

  
   
Ella smiles.

  
   
“Thank you, “she says.

  
   
“Yeah, they had a bunch of other stuff but … you’re into God and everything so it was either this or the devil and well … both are misleading but-”

  
   
“I like it,” Ella says, interrupting Maze’s word vomit.

  
   
Maze nods and smiles. She then turns to leave, and Ella looks down at the keychain. It was sweet. Maze had given her a gift. Suddenly her tablet dings and she looks down to grab it off her table. It was the coroner's report. Look like they actually came through with it early. She smiles. She wonders who her contact had to pay off to get it done today. She scrolls through it briefly before her smile falls.

  
   
“Oh no,” she whispers to herself.

  
   
\---

  
   
Inside the interrogation room, a young woman in a simple cardigan and summer dress sits patiently. Next to her, on the table, sits her small purse. She reaches into it and pulls out a compact mirror before she opens it to check her makeup. The door opens, and she lowers the mirror to see Chloe entering, a folder in her hand.

  
   
“Good Afternoon Ms. Mathers,” she says.

  
   
“Please, call me Emily,” she says, placing the compact back in her purse and sitting up in her chair.

  
   
Chloe tosses a half-smile to her and sits down. She opens the file and pulls a pen out from her blazer.

 

Chloe smiles, “Thank you for taking the time to come speak with us," she begins.

 

"Anything, it's so awful what happened to Beverley," she says.

 

Chloe looks to her oddly then back down at her folder.

 

"Emily, I’m going to ask you a few questions today," Chloe says," I want you to answer them honestly and as thoroughly as you can remember, okay?”

 

Emily nods.

  
   
“You’re a school teacher, correct?” Chloe asks.

  
   
Emily nods, “Yes.”

  
   
“and you still reside at 1829 Ambers View Road, Apartment B?”

  
   
Emily nods, “Yes.”

  
   
“Excellent. So, how long have you known Mr. Johnson,” she asks.

  
   
Emily smiles, “I’ve known David for … two or three years now?”

  
   
“How did you two meet?” Chloe asks.

  
   
“Like most people our age,” she laughs, “We met at a bar on new year’s day. His eyes met mine and … we just clicked. It was like the world had stood still.”

  
   
Chloe looks at her, unimpressed by her words. In fact, it seemed like she was angry at them.

  
“In your experience, does David have any issues with controlling his temper? Maybe he has a short fuse?”

  
   
Emily shakes her head, “Oh no. David is the sweetest. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  
   
Chloe begins to write something down.

  
   
“What about strange behavior? Has he asked you to keep anything hidden for him? Maybe weapons? Or ... rope?”

  
   
When Chloe says rope, Emily nods, “David never asked me to do anything like that for him. Our sex life is pretty bland compared to his wife.”

 

“I didn’t mention your sex life,” she says.

  
   
“Then, no. He’s never brought anything to me to hide or bury or …burn or anything like that. Our relationship is pretty normal. In _every_ aspect.”

  
   
Chloe’s eyes narrow, “So, that leads me to my next question. Has he ever spoken with you about the particularities of the relationship between him and his wife? Perhaps any issues in their relationship. Things he was angry or unhappy with?”

  
   
“David and I talk about everything,” she says.

  
   
Just then there’s a knock at the door, and Ella enters, her face grim.

  
   
“You should see this,” Ella says.

  
   
Chloe looks at Ella then back at Emily.

  
   
“Give me one second,” she says.

  
   
Chloe walks over to Ella as Ella hands her the tablet. Chloe reads it for a second before her eyes widen. She turns to Ella, who gives her the same look.

  
   
“Thank you,” she whispers.

  
   
Ella nods and leaves. Chloe comes back and takes a seat at the desk. She sits for a moment before turning to Emily. She sits their silent for a moment, then turns to Emily.

  
   
“You said he tells you everything?” she asks.

  
   
Emily smiles and nods.

  
   
“ _Everything_ ,” she says.

  
   
Chloe nods and puts her hands on the table.

  
   
“Did he tell you that his wife was two months pregnant?”

  
   
Emily’s smile fades.

  
   
“What?” she says, shock, horror, and sadness mixed inside her voice.

  
   
\--

 

Ella re-enters her lab and sets the tablet on her table.

  
   
“Wow,” she says to herself.

  
   
She shakes her head and opens up a file for another case. She is looking it over when the new Lieutenant comes in.

  
   
“Ms. Lopez,” she says happily, a file in her hand. Ella looks up.

  
   
“Yes?”

  
   
The Lieutenant hands her a file.

  
   
“New case just came in. They need a blood splatter report from you by tomorrow. Think you can handle it?”

  
   
Ella smiles and takes the file, “Easy. I’ll have it for you before I leave today.

  
   
“Excellent!” the Lieutenant says.

  
   
Ella turns to put the file down on her table in an exclusive pile. She walks around her desk and begins to pull up photos on her screen. She pauses. She doesn’t recall hearing the Lieutenant leave. She slowly turns to see the Lieutenant awkwardly standing there.

  
   
“Uh,” Ella begins to say, “Did you need something else?”

  
   
The Lieutenant thinks about it for a second, or more like feigns like she is trying to think of a question when she already has one in mind.

  
   
“Yeah, you know now that you mention it … uhm, that bounty hunter … you and her seem close.”

  
   
“Oh, Maze?” Ella says.

  
   
“ _Maze_ ,” the Lieutenant says as if logging that name into memory,” Does she always … is she always so rough?”

  
   
Ella laughs, “Oh, that’s just Maze,” she says with a smile.

  
   
The lieutenant nods, “I see.”

  
   
Ella looks at her oddly, “She’s really good at her job. She’s the best bounty hunter we have.”

  
   
The lieutenant smiles and nods, “I don’t doubt it. I was just curious is all.”

 

“She’s a little rough around the edges, sure, ”Ella says, “but once you get to know her she’s kind of … sweet.”

  
   
Ella looks off when she says that as if realizing it herself. A small smile comes to her face.

  
   
The Lieutenant smiles.

  
   
“I have no doubt,” she says. She pauses for a moment as if trying to gather her words.

  
   
“I just … given this precincts history. I would advise against overly fraternizing with employees or consultants,” she says.

  
   
Ella doesn’t get what she is trying to say. Ella leans up against the lab table and shakes her head.

  
   
“But that is what makes this team so great! You know, it’s easy to work with them because we know each other so well. We always have each other’s back …”

  
   
She pauses for a moment, her mind briefly going to Eric.

  
   
“Especially when someone lets you down.

  
   
Ella smiles as a thought pops into her head.

  
   
“Oh! I have a great idea. One Friday out of the month all of us get together and have like … a girls night at LUX. You should come with us this weekend!”

  
   
The Lieutenant tilts her head in curiosity, that isn’t what she came in here for. Suddenly, she's exceptionally uncomfortable.

  
   
“I … don’t think that is a good idea. Again, given this precinct's history – particularly with Lieutenants – I think it’s best I-“

  
   
“Oh, come on!” Ella says before she can even finish, “think of it more like team building! Or like a … Welcome to the precinct, kind of thing.”

  
   
“Ms. Lopez-“ she begins to say.

  
   
“I won’t take no for an answer!” she says, smiling.

  
   
“Unfortunately I have other plans, Ms. Lopez. Perhaps … perhaps next time.”

  
   
Ella sighs and shrugs, “Alright, but if you change your mind …”

  
   
The Lieutenant smiles in response and nods, “Well, that’s all I had for you. I look forward to your report,” she says.

  
   
“On it boss lady,” Ella says as she turns back to her tablet. The Lieutenant leaves and Ella scrolls through the images on her tablet again.

 

She pauses as if something has hit her mind before turning to the lab table where the angel keychain sits. She looks at it, and a small smile comes to her face. She turns back to her screen and starts flipping through images again.

  
   
\--  
 

  
Inside the interrogation room, Emily cries into a set of tissues.

  
   
“I only have a few more questions, if you feel down to answer them,” Chloe asks.

  
   
Emily reluctantly nods and wipes the tears from her eyes.

  
   
“Where were you Tuesday night?”

  
   
Emily looks up, her eyes scanning her memory.

  
   
“I uhm,” she says dabbing the mascara from beneath her eyes, “ I was at home, working on lesson plans,” she says.

  
   
“All night?”

  
   
Emily nods, “Us school teachers don’t get out much on school days,” she says, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. She must look a mess, she thinks.

  
   
Chloe doesn’t take the bait. It’s almost like she’s upset with her. Emily frowns. Chloe looks down to jot information down on her notepad.

  
   
“I know what it must seem like,” she says.

 

Chloe looks up at her.

  
   
“I don’t have the right to be upset. I’m just the mistress. _The homewrecker_. The other woman. Everyone thinks you do it just to be a bitch.”

  
   
Emily looks up at Chloe, “but it isn’t like that with David and me. We’re in love, or … _were_ in love.”

  
   
She looks away. He had hidden this from her on purpose. Could she really still want him? She sighs and looks back to Chloe.

  
   
“You can’t choose who you fall in love with,” she says,” Sure, he lied to me about being married but, I lied to him about simple things too. Like, that I didn’t know why he wouldn’t take me out to dinner in the same town. Or, why he insisted we only meet on certain nights.”

  
   
Emily stares off into space, “It crossed my mind that he might have another girlfriend. That he was hiding something, or me. But … the way he looks at me. He makes me feel like I’m the only woman in the world to him. I would have done anything to keep that look, even if it meant turning a blind eye.”

  
   
She shakes her head and turns back to Chloe.

  
   
“I knew who he was, and I stayed. I stayed because ... I don't know, maybe I stayed because i'm stupid.” she says softly.

  
   
Chloe shakes her head, “No … you’re not,” she says softly, for a moment being caught in her own predicament with Lucifer.

 

She coughs and clears that from her mind, her eyes briefly turning to the two-way mirror and whoever might be watching.

  
   
“Did David visit you that night?” Chloe asks.

  
   
Emily shuts her eyes and nods.

  
   
“He stopped by around … 9:30ish?”

  
   
“And when did he leave?” Chloe asks.

  
   
“Around eleven,” she says, “I wanted him to stay the night but … he said he had made plans.”

  
   
“What did you two do for an hour and a half?”

  
   
Emily looks at Chloe as if she didn’t need to answer that question. Emily sighs and answers anyway.

 

"We made love," she says.

  
   
“Right. If we have any more questions, we may contact you again.”

  
   
Emily nods. Chloe stands to leave, and Emily stops her.

  
   
 “I didn’t know his wife and I’m sure despite everything he’s ever told me she was a lovely person. No one deserves to go like that.”

  
   
Chloe nods and turns to leave.

  
   
\--

  
   
Inside the cold-water lagoon, Ezria lays against the ledge on which Calmos sat when they first met. With his legs scrunched up to his chest and his head tucked between his arms, he is comfortable. It is oddly soothing. He likes it here in this lagoon. It’s silent, still and … _dark_.

  
   
He hears the shifting of rocks nearby, indicating someone is coming down the pathway. He lifts his head and turns to see Calmos, with empty water buckets in hand, enter from the narrow path.

  
   
Calmos approaches the lake and squats. He reaches a bucket into the water and begins to fill it. Ezria watches him for a moment before deciding to speak up.

  
   
“You again?” Ezria says.

  
   
His voice startles Calmos. He isn’t used to anyone being in here. He jumps away from the sound, shifting his center of balance and falling into the lagoon.

  
   
Ezria sits up, wondering if he should help. For a moment he considers jumping in, but the lagoon isn’t deep at all and Calmos stands up. There is sharp anger behind his eyes as he is soaked from head to toe in freezing water.

  
   
“I hadn’t expected anyone to be here,” he says between his teeth, “why are _you_ here?”

  
   
He reaches down and pulls the now full bucket of water out of the lagoon, setting it on the edge. Then he reaches forward and pulls himself out of the water. The water falls off of every inch of his wet clothing and drenches the floor beneath him.

  
   
Ezria looks at him as if to suggest that was a silly question.

  
   
“This is my domain,” he says, “I can go where I please.”

  
   
Calmos scoffs. _His domain._ Who did this angel think he was? Many demons still remember the taste of angel flesh and would be more than happy to revive an old tradition. This angel comes into his quiet place without his permission and claims it as his own? _The nerve._

  
   
“I thought Angels weren’t supposed to be prideful?” he asks as he reaches down and slides the loose shirt off his body.

 

He wrings it out over the lagoon.

  
   
“I beg your pardon?” Ezria says, standing up

  
   
Ezria stretches his legs out and plants his feet on the ground.

  
   
“I do believe you have forgotten who you are speaking with,” he says as he stands up.

 

He unfurls his jet-black wings, and they stand proudly behind him.

  
   
Calmos doesn’t blink. He rolls his eyes and begins to untie the cord that holds his pants on.

  
   
“I know with whom I speak and I do not mince my words,” he says.

  
   
Ezria approaches.

  
   
“You are an abomination of God. A mortal with no soul. Flesh without spirit. I will not be spoken to in such a way!”

  
   
Calmos narrows his eyes, his annoyance becoming extremely evident. He lowers his pants down, revealing his fully nude form, and begins to squeeze the pants out over the lagoon. Ezria’s eyes trace down his body, and suddenly the anger in his voice is replaced by one thing; _curiosity._

  
   
“If you’re so _perfect,_ ” Calmos says, goosebumps forming on his skin as the cold water begins to evaporate, “Why are you down here with me then?”

  
   
Ezria isn’t even listening. He watches how the dim light beats off the slightly raised bumps on Calmos’ shoulder. Suddenly, he’s filled with a desire to keep him warm. He knits his eyebrows, his eyes turning to Calmos. He hadn’t heard what was said, but he knows he wouldn’t have liked it.

 

"If you and I are so different, then why are you down here with the likes of us? Sweltering in the heat? Watching the tortured and damned? Huh?" Calmos continues to ask.

  
   
“I will not be spoken to like that,” Ezria says again, the words having lost a lot of their aggression, “I demand the respect my station deserves.”

  
   
Calmos scoffs again as he reaches down to the fill the second bucket, already having enough of this conversation. More upset that his spot has been taken over than the words coming out of Ezria’s mouth.  
 

  
“I know you haven’t been here for long,” he says, not noticing the way Ezria’s head tilts as he gets a glimpse of his backside, “but that’s not how we operate around here.”

  
   
He sets the bucket on the ground then grabs his pants and slides the almost dry, but still cold clothing on his skin. It is visibly uncomfortable for him. Ezria’s eyes trail down as he watches the way Calmos delicately ties the string around his waist. Calmos then tucks the damp shirt into his waistband and picks up the buckets. He turns to leave then pauses before turn in back to Ezria.

  
   
“We may not be angels, but we can be loyal. If you want respect, you earn it.”

  
   
He turns to leave, and Ezria watches him. His wings slowly lower and he looks back to the lagoon. He turns to see Calmos sliding past the doorway before disappearing on the other side.

  
   
He had been angry before, but now he was confused. _Why couldn’t he get Calmos’s naked form out his mind?_  
  
 


	8. A Hell of A Revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella and Maze have a special night in. Lucifer confesses his sins to Chloe, Ezria finds his sentinel, and Daniel makes a final decision.

 

Ella stands nervously at her kitchen counter. She taps her nails on the countertop and brings her watch up to her wrists. Maze should be here any second.

She takes a glance around her apartment one last time to check if anything is out of place. As soon as she came home from work, she did a mad dash to clean, so she hadn’t even had time to think about what might happen. Now that she was showered and calm, she was standing here in the kitchen waiting, and all she could do was think about what would happen. All she could think about where her hands and mouth, would be in a few moments. She is both nervous and excited.

 

She had been with women before Maze, few and far between, but she never had anything to prove with them. Now, she did. This was far less fun now that her pride was on the line, but if she could give Maze even a fraction of what she was given, it would be worth it. She smiles to herself. That smile quickly fades. If she couldn’t though …

 

She shakes her head. She was competitive, maybe _too_ competitive for her own good.

 

“Screw it,” she says as she goes into her cupboard and pulls out a bottle of tequila and a shot glass.

 

She pours the shot generously and sets it on the counter. She eyes it briefly as if sizing it up before she inhales, grabs the shot and downs it in one gulp. It burns, but it is a pleasant burn that promises to ease her nerves.

 

She pours another shot when there is a knock at her apartment door. She turns to it, her heart suddenly racing.

 

“Who is it?” she asks as if she doesn’t already know.

 

“Really?” Maze says from the other side of the door.

 

Ella turns to the shot and downs it before pushing the bottle and shot glass out of immediate view. She then walks to the door, pauses to get herself calm, then reaches out and swings the door open.

 

Maze leans against the wall on the opposite side of the hallway, her arms crossed.

 

“You sure you want to do this, Lopez?” she asks, as she pushes herself off the wall and strolls into the open door.

 

“Yeah, why?” Ella asks.

 

Maze pauses in front of her and looks her up and down. She leans in and sniffs. Her eyes narrow, and she looks at Ella.

 

“You’ve been drinking,” she says.

 

Ella shrugs her off and begins to close the door,” I just had a shot. You know, to get the party started.”

 

Maze sighs and enters further into the apartment. She stands between the kitchen and living room. Her eyes immediately go to the game console. She turns around to Ella.

 

“Alright, let’s get this over with then,” she says, peeling off her leather jacket, “I want to get past that checkpoint.”

 

Maze tosses the jacket onto the couch, before reaching down and slipping her feet out of her boots. She then turns back to Ella.

 

Ella looks at her like a deer in headlights. She had expected maybe some talking, perhaps _a little_ foreplay.

 

Maze closes the distance between them quickly and begins kissing her. Ella nervously kisses back, but her nerves cool then heat to a fiery passion. Maze smiles into her kisses as Ella pushes her towards the bedroom.

 

They cross into the bedroom and Maze spins them around before pushing Ella down to the bed. Ella reaches up and discards her white t-shirt, revealing her black bra. Maze climbs on top of her, and they kiss again.

 

Ella snakes her hands up Maze’s sides and hooks her fingers beneath the fabric of Maze’s shirt. Maze separates from her, raising her arms up as Ella pulls the shirt off of her and tosses it to the side. Maze leans in and begins kissing her neck, eliciting a delightful moan from her.

 

Ella almost gets lost in that feeling, but she reminds herself she doesn’t want a repeat of last time. She sits up, trying to get from under Maze, but Maze pushes her back down as she begins nibbling at Ella’s collarbone. Ella places a hand on Maze’s shoulder and pushes her off. Maze spins onto her back on the bed and licks her teeth.

 

She tilts her head, a curiosity falling just behind her eyes. She likes this forcefulness.

 

Ella climbs on top of her and kisses her. Maze reaches up as they are locked in a kiss and wraps her arms around Ella before flipping her back onto the bed. Ella groans in disapproval as Maze grabs her hands and raises them above her head.

 

“I thought we already talked about this,” Maze says as she leans in and goes back to kissing Ella’s neck. Ella rolls her eyes and pushes her off again before mounting her.

 

“Just let me do what I want!” she says. Maze narrows her eyes with a smile. She likes this aggressiveness.

 

“Make me,” she says.

 

Ella smiles and leans in to kiss her. Maze brings her hands up and places them on either side of Ella’s waist. Ella isn’t falling for that anymore, though, and takes a page out of Maze’s book by reaching back to grab her hands and place them above her head. Maze smiles into her kiss.

 

“You think that is going to stop me?” she asks.

 

Ella smiles.

 

“You think I can’t?” she asks.

 

Maze chuckles and goes to move her hand, but Ella keeps it pinned down.

 

“You’re going to be like this all night, aren’t you?” she asks.

 

“Maybe,” Maze replies.

 

“I got something to fix that,” she says.

 

Ella hops off her and Maze smiles.

 

“Where are you going?” she says.

 

“You’ll see,” Ella replies as she climbs off the bed and heads into the bathroom.

 

Maze collapses back on the bed, a smile on her face. She reaches down and unbuckles her belt before sliding herself out of her pants and kicking them to the ground.

 

In the bathroom, Ella opens a drawer and moves the items around, looking for her scarf. She can’t find it, so she moves to another drawer. Still, no scarf.

She exits the bathroom and pauses as a pantless Maze lays on the bed, propped up by her elbows. She takes a glance at her momentarily before smiling.

She turns to exit the bedroom and Maze sighs.

 

“What are you looking for?” she asks.

 

“Don’t ruin the surprise!” she says.

 

In the bedroom Maze sighs and collapses on the bed. She stares at the ceiling. Humans.

 

In the kitchen, Ella opens up her junk drawer. Maybe she put it in here. Nothing is in there but chopsticks and old pamphlets. She closes the drawer and sighs.

 

“Any day now, Lopez?” Maze yells from the bedroom, the beginnings of annoyance in her voice.

 

“Give me a second!” Ella yells back.

 

Her eyes turn to the storage closet, where she keeps her laundry supplies.

 

 _Huh_ , she thinks, _maybe it fell out of the wash._

 

She goes to the closet and opens it before looking through a pile of clothes. It’s not here either.

 

Her eyes tilt up to a cardboard box on the top shelf of the storage closet. She reaches up and pulls it down before looking through it. Maybe she couldn’t’ find her scarf, but perhaps she could find a belt, or maybe …

 

She pushes and old book aside and finds a half-used roll of duct tape. Her eyes light up, and she pulls it out.

 

Tape might work, she thinks as she slides the box back into place. She thinks about it for a moment and her shoulders drop. She couldn’t tape up Maze, she’d be able to get out of it too quickly. Not to mention it wasn't as sexy as a scarf. It was what people did when they wanted to kidnap someone, not have sex with them.

Her eyebrows fall, and a look of curiosity comes over her face. She turns the roll of tape over and reads the label on the back. Suddenly her eyes are filled with determination as she enters work mode. She goes to the living room and reaches into her purse to pull out her tablet. She scrolls through it for a second before she pulls up the coroner’s report from the Johnson case. She reads it for a moment before she stands up and quickly walks over to the kitchen to pick up her phone. She dials a number and waits.

 

“Hello?” a voice on the other side says.

 

“Chloe!” she says, “Listen. I figured it out."

 

“Figured what out?” Chloe says, on the other end.

 

“The rope, the restraints…it’s not a rope at all. It’s tape.”

 

“Tape?” she says.

 

Ella nods and walks over to the living room. She sits on the couch and thumbs through the report.

 

“The nail scrapings from the victim didn’t come back with biological material, but it was noted there were traces of resin and polyethylene."

 

"You didn't think to mention this earlier?" Chloe asks.

 

Ella brushes that off.

 

"Well no, it was certainly odd but not uncommon. Polyethylene is the most common commercial plastic polymer. What makes it odd is the addition of resin. The combination of both resin and polyethylene account for two out of the three main ingredients in…wait for it …duct tape.”

 

“Okay, so you think she was bound with duct tape?” Chloe says on the other line, the intrigue in her voice.

 

“That would explain the lack of a rope, the laceration marks, and the nail scrapings. It’s incredibly hard to tie somebody up with a roll of tape. You would almost have to tie it too tight.”

 

“Hmm,” Chloe says, “That still begs the question. Why remove the tape in the first place?”

 

"It's tape, Chloe. It's adhesive. There was probably fingerprints all over it."

 

"Mm," Chloe says. Ella makes a good point.

 

"Okay, so is there a way to trace duct tape?" Chloe says.

 

Ella shakes her head, "Unfortunately no," she says, "but if we can find the roll we might get lucky and find traces of her DNA on it. I mean-"

 

"It's an adhesive, right ... got it," Chloe says.

 

The line is silent as both of them are in deep thought. Chloe sighs on the other side of the phone.

 

“Okay, well … thank you, Ella. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”

 

Ella nods, “Alright. Later.”

 

“Goodnight,” she says before the line hangs up.

 

Ella tosses her phone onto the couch and lays back. She brings the duct tape up to her face. Suddenly it dawns on her why she had the duct tape to begin with.

She bolts up in the seat and sets the tape on the chair. She stands up, adjusts her hair, and begins to walk to her bedroom.

 

“Sorry about that,” she says, turning the corner.

 

“Where were w-“ she stops in front of her bedroom and stares in disbelief.

 

There, on her bed, Maze is fast asleep. Not like the sexy sleep either, she is clearly not of this world anymore. Maze's hair is messy, and she clutches the pillow beneath her tightly as drool slides from her lip onto the pillow below.

 

Ella sighs and leans against the doorframe. _What was she going to do with Maze?_

 

She pushes herself off the door and heads back into the living room. She crosses into the kitchen and pulls the tequila out of its corner. She pours herself another shot and downs it. Ella sets the shot on the counter, and her eyes roll up to the TV then down to her game console. She shrugs. She might as well.

 

\--

 

In Hell, Ezria sits inside the room with the balcony at the top of the tower. He looks out onto the endless ash, an angry look on his face and deep black eyes. His breathing is calm and collected, but there is chaos behind his eyes. He is quite displeased.

 

He had imagined his freedom from his cage would be more … _free_. Yet, here he sat at the top of the tower looking out onto a domain that should be his. He gets the feeling he isn’t free at all; he had merely exchanged his cage for this room. He couldn’t step foot outside of the tower without being made a fool.

 

Save for the demons that guard the tower, no one here treats him with the respect his station deserves. It fills him with hatred for these creatures.  He had thought of them as creations of God, deserving of life and justice. Yet, the more time he spent down here, the more he came to loathe them. No wonder God had left them to rot in this place. They were deserving of Hells fires. His anger wanes for a moment.

 

But what about him? Calmos’ words play through his head. He was down here too. What if he were just as bad as they were? Perhaps that was his fault he was down here. No, father may have known he was locked away but … he was left no choice? Right? He shakes that thought out of his head.

 

He sighs, and his eyes shift downwards to the stone tiled floor. Maybe he should have punished that demon when he had the chance. If he had, the others would have feared him as they should. He shakes his head and turns his eyes back to his view from the observatory. _Someone needed to be punished_. His scrunches his face in disgust.

 

He was a child of God. He deserved to be in the Silver City with his brothers and sisters, not here in the sweltering heat. Though, it was much cooler in this room than in his previous arrangements. At least here he didn’t have to spend his time next to a lake of lava.

 

He sighs and turns his head to a bowl of water on a nearby stand. He stands and approaches it before cupping his hands and bringing the water up to his face. It was tepid, nowhere near the cold temperatures it should be. He lowers his hands slowly, his face dripping with water. An idea comes to him, and a wicked smile forms itself across his face. If he desires respect … then respect he should have.

 

Quickly he takes the bowl of water and tosses it onto the floor. It spills its contents and shatters into tiny pieces. The water hits his bare feet, and he looks up to the double doors as he hears footsteps approach.

 

Moments later, the door swings open and two guards enter. They pause and look down at the floor then to Ezria. Ezria stands there, his wings spread wide and his eyes still an unnatural darkness.

 

“I require water,” he says, calmly, “bring me water.”

 

The guards look at each other then back to Ezria.

 

“Yes, my lord,” one of them says. They both turn and exit. Ezria smiles to himself. He would have his respect, _one way or the other_.

 

\---

 

Inside Chloe’s apartment, with Trixie asleep and Maze gone, it is peaceful. Chloe sits on her couch, face deep in the Blood Moon Saga. She lays on her back, her knees kicked up beneath a knitted blanket. She reaches next to her and picks up a glass of red wine.

 

The book starts to finally describe the male lead, the charmingly dangerous Gerard – a centuries-old vampire who takes an interest in the female night nurse. It describes him as pale, supposedly due to lack of sun, but beautiful.

 

_His tall, lean frame only emphasized the long locks of hair that flowed down his back._

 

Chloe raises her eyebrows. This is what the author thinks is attractive? She laughs to herself, finding this book enjoyable for different reasons.

 

She reads further, onto when the night nurse finally notices Gerard watching her from the hallway.

 

_She looks at him, into him. She would have been afraid of him had she not noticed something just behind his eyes; a never-ending sadness – loneliness that clung to him like lint to tape._

 

Chloe raises her eyebrows. If she hadn’t already had a picture of the character in her head, she would have thought for sure the author was describing –

 

There is a timid knock on the door, and she turns to it. Her eyebrows furrow.

She just thought of him again. She thought of _them_ again. Her eyes drop in sadness. She had to stop doing that. If she wanted to get over him, she had to stop doing that. There was no them. That was painfully apparent.

She lets out a deep sigh and sets the tablet on the table next to her glass of wine as she peels herself out of the comfort of her couch.

 

She quietly approaches the door, weary from a long day and slightly annoyed at the interruption. She perches on her toes and peeks through the peephole to see Lucifer staring back at her. She pauses then slowly backs away from the door. Had he heard her approach? Could she pretend she wasn’t there?

 

It was like her desk all over again.

 

“Detective?” he says, from behind the door.

 

She doesn’t respond. She closes her eyes as she slowly and carefully backs away from the door. Lucifer audibly sighs on the other side of the door.

 

“Detective, I know you’re there. I can see your shadow beneath the door, and I heard you moving around,” he says.

 

She peers down and can clearly see her shadow cast towards the door. _Damnit._

 

She exhales loudly; on it carries annoyance and exhaustion. She just … wanted this day to be over.

 

“What do you want, Lucifer? She says impatiently through the door.

 

“I just want to speak with you,” he says.

 

“You’ve talked enough. Okay? Let’s just … drop it.”

 

On the other side of the door, he pauses.

 

 “Dr. Martin says the key to any relationship is communication. So ... let’s communicate, okay?”

 

There’s that word again, she thinks. Relationship. What the _fuck_ did he know about that word? They didn’t have a relationship. They were just partners. He had made that abundantly clear, she thinks.

 

“Well, I don’t want to talk to you,” she says through the door, “Not right now. I just … I need to be by myself, okay?”

 

He sighs, “Then just listen. Let me say what I need to say and after that, I will … I will leave you alone. If that is what you wish, I will leave you alone.”

 

There is no response. He looks down towards the bottom of the door to see her shadow is still there. He takes that as a sign that he needs to say what he came here to say. He had expected to say it to her face but … he supposes a door will do.

 

“Detective, I … I’m not really good with all … _this_. Whatever this is. I mean, quite frankly you humans are unpredictable, _completely_ unaware and –“

 

“Lucifer-,” she says, her voice betraying her annoyance.

 

“But,” he says, interrupting her interruption, “It’s become quite apparent since my return that … this chaotic unknown that is humanity is vastly more interesting than anything I’ve ever experienced. Perhaps that is why I chose to come here, to Los Angeles.”

 

On the other side of the door, she waits impatiently. None of those makes her change her mind. If anything, he was only pointing out something she had tried to not think of; Lucifer wasn’t human. How would that even work?  She briefly thinks about the Blood Moon Saga and smirks. She shakes her head.

 

_Freaking Ella._

 

 “I… know you’re upset with me,” he continues, “and truly I didn’t understand why. I never lied to you, Detective. I did not have any intention of being intimate with that woman, nor did I have the desire. But …”

 

He pauses, his eyes cast down.

 

“It was never about what my intentions, was it?” he asks.

 

The question is mostly rhetorical, but he pauses hoping she would answer. Hoping she would engage him. She doesn’t.

 

“That woman was in my penthouse not because I wanted to have sex with her but … because I needed someone to talk to. And she was there. And I knew what she wanted but …”

 

He pauses, cutting his train of thought short. He turns his glance back to the door, suddenly a more confident tone to his voice.

 

“I know I haven’t been the best man … or angel,” he says, his eyes staring at the door, wondering what she was doing on the other side.

 

On the other side of the door, her eyes cast up to the door. All she sees is the white wood of her front door, but she imagines him on the other side. His tone, his words … she knows him so well.

 

He shakes his head, “I haven’t even been the best of … well, _anything_ , really. A partner, a friend. I drink in excess, though to be fair my metabolism doesn’t lend itself to inebriation, so it’s quite a moot point, but still.”

 

Oh, the other side of the door she shakes her head and rolls her eyes. A small smile starts to form in the corner of her face.

She fights it off.

 

“I smoke. I am told that is unhealthy … but you know … again immortality and all,” he continues, his mind running through all the things he’s ever done to hurt Father.

Though, he begins to think … maybe it wasn’t Father he was hurting.

 

“I’ve had sex with … well, it’s probably more fitting to suggest who I haven’t had sex with.”

 

He chuckles to himself and looks at the door before he remembers why it was closed in the first place.

He closes his eyes tightly as if picturing himself stepping on yet another land mine.

“ _Sorry_ ,” he says, “Sorry.”

 

He pauses, and the hallway dips into silence.

 

On the other side of the door, Chloe moves to a nearby stool and sits on it.

 

Outside, in the hallway, Lucifer sees the shadow shift and waits. Is she leaving? Is she opening the door? When nothing happens, he exhales, not even aware he had been holding his breath. He turns his eyes down the hallway.

 

He had never imagined he would be here. If he were asked several months ago if he and the detective could have ever been in this position, he would have jokingly brushed that idea aside. It would have been easier, he thinks, to not love at all than to feel what he feels right now. Regret, shame … _fear._

 

“If I would have known what you would mean to me, I wouldn’t have done any of that. Least of all in front of you," he says, "If I have any regret in my existence, it’s … letting you see the worst of me.”

 

He turns his eyes back to the shadow. She was still there.

 

His eyes begin to tear up. They dart back and forth on her door, looking for any sign that she might open it to him. Part of him wants her there, but the other part doesn’t want her to see him.

 

On the other side of the door, Chloe looks down to her hands as they are cradled in her lap. Her eyes slowly peel up to the door, a softness to them that reveals she is letting him in again; no matter how hard she is trying to fight it.

 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small silver key. He rubs it between his fingers and holds on tightly to it.

 

“My intention was never to make you feel like I am running away from you; that you need to chase me. I would _never_ run from you.”

 

He looks up to the door again, then down to make sure the shadow is still there.

 

“Truth is,” he says, his eyes going back to the key,” I run from the way you make me feel. The things you make me feel.”

 

His eyebrows furrow as if thinking out loud and struggling to pinpoint that feeling.

 

“I don’t feel shame for many things, Detective. But lately, I feel … everything. What made me think I could be anything more to you I don’t rightfully know but … despite your beliefs, I do know what I want, Detective. _I want you_. I’m sorry if that was never apparent, but it seems I still have some work to do in that department,” he says a small smile coming to his face.

 

He reaches up to wipe a tear from his eye. He looks at the door again and realizes she can't see him smile. His smile fades.

 

“This whole thing is new to me. Love is … terrifying and as much as I hate to say this, Amenadiel was right. It’s illogical and _frustrating_ and … it’s a paradox. The way it makes me feel is simultaneously the best and the worst I have ever felt. And I still don’t know If it’s real, but I want it to be. I want it to be so badly.”

 

He looks back down the hallway. He wonders how many men had to apologize to doors. He wonders how many more times he would have to apologize to doors. His eyes cast down into nothingness as he chases a thought in his mind.

 

 “So, know I would never intend to do anything to hurt you, but I understand now that … maybe intentions aren’t enough.”

 

He looks up back to the door.

 

He had expected she would open it by now and greet him with that look that tells him everything is okay. He had expected too much it seemed.

 

“I have to honest Detective, I had hoped by now you would have forgiven me. But …”

 

His eyes furrow again. He stares at her doorway. Maybe it was best she was on the other side. Perhaps it was best he was apologizing to her door.

 

“But I don’t think I want you to,” he says, “because it would be pointless to ask for forgiveness for something I will continue to do. You asked me what love looked like and I … I don’t know. I mean, not to harp on the whole daddy issues thing but between you and me and I could probably write a book about it.”

 

He pauses for a moment and looks off, his eyebrows furrow as if coming to a realization, “Though … I suppose that’s already been done,” he says.

 

On the other side of the door, Chloe lets out a small guffaw. Lucifer hears it and pauses. He smiles a slight smile that quickly fades.

 

 “I will hurt you. I will make you cry. I will probably continue to do things that end in me apologizing to your door because I was too clueless. But … I want you to know it’s not because I don’t love you. It’s … it’s because I … I don’t know what love is,” he says.

 

He looks back to the door, a dam of tears forming in his eyes.

 

“What it looks like, what it feels like. I don’t know how to act, what to say, what to do, or what not to do. I don’t have any experience in that … I don’t know what it means, and I’m terrified,” he says, frustration in his voice as it seems he doesn’t know why he can’t understand something seemingly everyone else does.

 

 “I formed the stars. I watched the genesis of man, the fall of Rome, the birth of a savior. I’ve seen the best and the worst of humanity and still somehow …someway, I’ve never felt the way I feel when you look at me. When you look at me like you love me.”

 

“ _Me_ ,” he says, a tear overflowing in his eyes and falling down his cheek.

 

“ _The devil_ ,” he finishes.

 

On the other side of the door. Chloe pulls her sweater up to her eyes to wipe the tears away. She rolls her eyes in her head once she realizes she’s crying over him yet again.

 

 _Fuck_ , she whispers. She looks back down at her hands in her lap then at the door.

 

Lucifer looks back up at the door, then down at the shadow beneath it. She was still there. He continues to speak, a quickness in his voice and lends itself to panic.

 

“I understand if … I _know_ I made a mistake. I _know_ I can’t fix it. I know. I _know_ I don’t deserve another chance. But … I wasn’t lying when I said I couldn’t go back. I can’t _not_ love you. I can’t _not_ want to spend every waking second waiting for you to look at me like that again.”

 

He glances down at the key in his hand.

 

“I am stupid. I am flawed. I am … broken and you deserve better but … when I am with you, I feel … I feel like none of that matters. I feel like maybe …”

 

He closes his eyes. That feeling deep in him, bubbling to the surface again. He shuts it out. He locks it tightly within him. He exhales as if to calm himself. His tears dry up. When he opens it, his voice is filled with purpose and confidence.

 

“I can’t go back, Detective. So, you can hate me tonight and the next night. Perhaps even the night after that, I will accept it. I will take that because I deserve that. But whenever you are done hating me, just know that I will still be here, waiting for you to open that door. Waiting for you to invite me in. Sex or no sex Detective, I cannot go back.”

 

He pauses.

 

He doesn’t have anything else he wants to say because he's said it all. He's said all that comes to mind; all he can say when he’s talking to a door.

 

He lets out a long sigh. He really had imagined she’d open it by now.

 

“I uhm … I decided it was probably best to put a lock no my Penthouse elevator, “he says, “You know after the whole Amenadiel thing. Though I suppose he has wings so …I might have to lock my balcony door as well,” he says, his eyes turning to the side as if making a mental note.

 

He turns his eyes back to the door, then down to the key in his hand.

 

“So I … I wanted you to have this.”

 

He kneels down and gingerly slips the key beneath the door.

 

On the other side of the door, Chloe watches as he slips the key beneath the door. She stares at it for a moment.

 

“It’s the only copy,” he says, “Well besides my cleaning crew and of course I’ll have to give Mazikeen a copy.”

 

Chloe gets up from her stool and slowly walks over to the key. She leans down and picks it up, staring at it for a moment before glancing up to the door. She places a hand on the door, still not ready to open it up but … she wanted to touch him.

 

“Use it or don’t use it, I’m not saying either I just … I would never lock you out. You are always welcomed at my penthouse, but … you were right. The penthouse has been used for so much … well, you know.”

 

He chuckles to the door only to find the door doesn’t laugh back. His smile fades. He closes his eyes like he stepped in it again.

 

“Sorry!” he says.

 

On the other side of the door, Chloe places her forehead gently on it, a small smile coming to her face. She shakes her head. She’s not over it, she’s still upset about what Lucifer did but … the air around her is free. Her shoulders aren’t tense anymore, and she seems more relaxed. She was letting him in again, and despite every bell in her head telling her not to, she couldn’t help it.

 

He stands there, the door still closed. He lets out a deep sigh and nods.

 

“Okay well, …that’s all I have to say. I’m sorry to disturb your evening. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow morning? I read over the case details. You humans surely devise interesting ways to kill each other. Not much unlike demons I suppose,” he says, smiling.

 

He watches the door, but still, nothing happens. He had expected the door to open halfway through his speech and for her to come running into his arms, but here he was still staring at her door. He nods to himself.

 

He pauses again. Nothing.

 

“Goodnight Chloe,” he says.

 

On the other side of the door, she closes her eyes. Her forehead hits the door three times as if she were smashing her head against it. The first two times are soft, but the third time hits with enough force to cause an audible thump.

 

He turns to the door, waiting for something to happen.  On the other side of the door, she pauses. Had he heard that?

 

In the hallway, he watches the door hoping for something. Still nothing. He nods to himself and turns to leave again. He makes a few steps away when the door behind him clicks, and Chloe steps out into the hallway.

 

He turns to see her standing there, cautiously leaning against the door frame. He smiles at her, but it’s a half-smile. He’s happy to see her, but also wary. He doesn’t think he could handle it if she still said they had to go back to what they were.

 

“I’m still upset,” she says, her arms crossed.

 

He smiles.

 

“I accept that,” he says, “and you have every right to be Detective I-“

 

She holds a hand up, stopping him from speaking.

 

“It’s my turn,” she says.

 

He closes his mouth and nods. She lets go a deep sigh.

 

“I’m upset and … to be honest, the fact that I am upset makes me more upset. And I know it’s not fair. _I know_. We never spoke about what we were. What we _are_. We … never claimed to be anything and so I shouldn’t be angry. I _know_ I shouldn’t be angry, but … I am.”

 

She turns her head back inside her apartment, shaking her head as if she felt stupid. She turns back to him.

 

“So, what do I do with that, Lucifer? Where do I place my disappointment?” she asks, tears in her eyes and knowing he doesn’t have the answer.

 

He nods. He hated to see her cry, but he knows it’s too soon still. It’s too soon to hold her. She shakes her head and looks down at the key in her hand. She holds it out to him.

 

“What does this mean for us?” she asks.

 

He turns his eyes to the key. She looks down at it then at him, her eyes wanting an answer. She was hurt, he could tell, but she was willing to listen to him; that was a start.

 

“ _What are we?_ I need to know if I should be angry. Should I? Should I be angry?” she asks, neediness in her voice.

 

His eyes fall, a sadness to them.

 

 “I’m … not exactly boyfriend material,” he says.

 

She shakes her head, “How do you know if you’ve never tried?”

 

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrow.

 

 _He was getting tired of her being right_.

 

He looks at her, standing there with tears in her eyes, asking him to make yet another decision. Begging him to make a decision.

He turns his eyes away. He had never been in a real relationship or anything more than just a sexual contract. He had locked that part away from himself.

 

 “Should I be angry?” she asks again, needing an answer.

 

They stand in silence for a second. He had closed himself off to trusting anyone; to loving _anyone_ ever again. Yet here he was, standing in her hallway after spilling his heart to her through a door. He had hoped it would relieve him of this guilt, and it did, but it also left him with this idea.

 

This idea that he needed her, that he wanted her. He had never been a boyfriend; angels didn’t have much need for romantic partners. But with her … maybe he wanted to try?  Hell, if Amenadiel could do it …

 

“Yes,” he says, fully aware that his answer is the exact opposite of what he wants. But he couldn’t lie to her. He would _never_ lie to her.

“You should be angry.”

 

She exhales in relief, and the pool of tears forming in her eye falls as the levy breaks. She closes them for a moment, reveling in her newfound emotional validity. He stands there and watches her as she sobs. He hates it. He hates watching her cry. He wants to hold her, but he doesn't. She stops crying and starts to wipes her eyes.

She looks down to the key in her hand as she sniffles.

 

"This is the only copy?" she asks, looking up to him.

 

"Yes," he chokes out, "well minus mine, and the cleaning crew and of course-

"Maze," she says, with a lighthearted chuckle.

 

He nods.

 

They stand there in comfortable silence for a moment.

 

Lucifer looks at her, his mouth opens as if he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. It’s quite clear he has no idea what to do and that awkwardness makes Chloe want to smile.

 

She doesn’t though, because even though he apologized, she was still angry. She was still emotional, and it was too soon to allow him all the way back in. She had been ready to give herself to him completely. She couldn’t just turn that back on.

 

“Detective,” he says.

 

She turns to him.

 

“Would you … like to go out to dinner tomorrow?”

 

She looks at him. He was asking her out on a date? Like, a real one? She stands there for a second. She wanted to say yes but …

 

“No,” she says.

 

He is taken back for a moment. He had expected her to say yes.

 

“I’m not … I’m not ready yet.”

 

He smiles softly and nods.

 

“Then I suppose I will wait until you are,” he says with a smile.

 

He looks over her, this woman. He would do anything for her, even if it meant he had to wait another day, or a week, or – hell forbid -  a month.

He would wait an eternity for her. He _has waited_ an eternity for her. _What was a few eternity’s more?_

 

“Goodnight, Detective,” he says with a nod.

 

“Goodnight, Lucifer,” she says sweetly.

 

She turns and enters her apartment, locking the door behind her.

 

Lucifer stands there for a moment, he turns his eye to the hallway then back to the door. He has no idea what just happened, but his heart beats in excitement with the possibility. It feels like … it feels like the chase is on.

 

\--

 

On the back porch of her home, Linda Martin sits comfortably on her bench; a light blanket draped over her legs. She quietly reads to herself. She reaches the end of the page and turns it.

 

Momentarily she looks up from her book and reaches out to grab the cup of tea nearby. She sips it and smacks her lips before setting it back. She adjusts herself in her chair, getting more comfortable, and goes back to reading.

 

She sighs a pleased sigh as her muscles further relax, and she lets out a small yawn. The week was almost over, and tomorrow she would enjoy drinks and music with her friends. She smiles to herself thinking about it. She had waited all month for this release, to feel something other than …

 

A light breeze blows through, and she looks up momentarily. It isn’t heavy like last time, it’s just light enough to barely move the wind chimes.

 

She looks up to the chimes as if looking for confirmation. They gently sing to one another; a tone she finds soothing. She relaxes back into her chair and goes back to reading her book.

 

Her eyes scan the page for a few moments before its clear she’s having trouble concentrating. Her eyes slowly move up and stare out into the darkness of her backyard. She feels like she is being watched again.

 

She goes back to her book, wondering if this feeling were just left-over paranoia from the night before. She tries to read a paragraph, but it’s clear she’s still having trouble concentrating.

 

A light breeze kicks through the night and carries on it a familiar scent. She closes her eyes as it fills her nostrils. She remembers that scent well; _Amenadiel._

 

She opens her eyes and gazes out into the darkness of her backyard once more. This time, she acutely scans as if looking for something; someone.

 

Yes, she feels like she is being watched still, but now – after smelling that scent – it doesn’t fill her with a sense of fear. Instead, it fills her with a sense of longing; safety.

 

She closes her eyes to lock that scent into memory. To feel it in every limb of her body. It makes her heart race. She turns her gaze back to the book, but she can’t read it. Her mind is going a mile a minute thinking about him.

 

Was he here? Why was he here? Was he watching her? Why was he watching her? Did she even care? Should she acknowledge him? What would that even do?

 

She knew she couldn’t, not after last time. Maze’s friendship meant everything to her and stepping back into that minefield could be trouble but … she did love him. _Was it wrong to love him?_

 

She turns her eyes back to the book and begins attempting to read again. It’s still not working.

 

She lets out a deep sigh and turns her gaze back to the darkness. Her frustration slowly wanes and is replaced by a soft love. She smiles to herself.

 

She brings the book closer and begins to read out loud.

 

“The next night,” she begins, “When Evelyn had sewn her last wound and dumped her last bedpan, he was waiting by the doors for her.”

 

Behind a tree, Amenadiel slowly sits, a smile coming to his face. Linda was a smart woman and often read to herself at night to calm her mind. Long days of listening to the problems of the world meant this was her special spot. He knew that about her. He _loved_ that about her.

 

She didn’t need to read out lout to comprehend, in fact, the noise she made might detract from the sanctity of the place. But here she was, reading to herself out loud. He didn’t have to ask why. He wanted to sit beside her. He wanted to smell her hair and drape his arm lovingly around her but …

 

He couldn’t. He knew she didn’t want to hurt Maze and he didn’t want to hurt Linda.

 

Linda looks up from her book, momentarily. She had no idea if he was still there. She had hoped he would be. She looks back down at her book and focuses on the next sentences.

 

“She had been in scrubs for more than twenty-four hours, and no doubt had blood splattered in places even he would find distasteful,” Linda says as she continues reading, “Still, to Gerard, she was the _most beautiful thing_ he’d ever seen and no amount of bodily fluids could change that.”

 

Behind the tree, Amenadiel smiles to himself and listens as Linda continues to read.

 

\--

 

Calmos saunters up the spiraling staircase of the tower, headed to the room with the balcony. He holds a full bucket of water with both hands, trying not to spill it. When he reaches the final step, and steps onto the landing, he sets the bucket down and grabs the hem of his shirt. He pulls it up to wipe the sweat from it.

 

He looks up to the door and exhales, preparing himself. His last interactions with the free Angel was not the best. He wonders if he should apologize for his outburst, or would that be considered weak? The last thing he wanted to do was to be thought of as _weak_.

 

The other demons were already wary of him because he carried the water and possessed the strange human instrument. He sighs and shakes his head. No, he wouldn’t apologize … but he would see how this went. Slowly he reaches forward and plants his hand on the handle of the door. He takes a deep breath and turns the handle. The door slides open. He reaches down and picks up the bucket with two hands before carefully entering.

 

Inside, Ezria sits, his black wings spread proudly on a nearby chair. He is shirtless, and his eyes have returned to their standard light brown. On either side of the entrance, the two guards stand motionless.

 

Calmos looks at them, then turns to Ezria. He looks at Ezria as if the sight were odd and sets the bucket of water on the floor.

 

“You called for water?” he asks.

 

Ezria nods once, very slowly, his eyes never leaving Calmos.

 

Calmos turns his head to the table where the bowl is usually kept, except there is no bowl there. He furrows his eyebrows.

 

“Where is your basin?” he asks.

 

“I seem to have broken it,” Ezria says, “I hope that is not a problem.”

 

Calmos sighs and drops his shoulders.

 

“Where am I supposed to place the water if there is no basin?” he asks, as if it were stupid he had to clarify the Angel needed a receptacle for the water.

 

Ezria nods, an odd calmness in him.

 

“I didn’t quite think of that,” Ezria says calmly.

 

Calmos sighs and looks around the room for something that could hold water.

 

“What _other_ services do you provide?” Ezria asks.

 

Calmos turns to him. Briefly, confusion falls over his face before he recognizes that look in Ezria’s eyes. Behind him, the demons who guard the door look at one another before exiting, believing the angel will need his privacy. The door shuts behind them as they leave. Calmos briefly turns to it, then turns back to Ezria.

 

“I carry the water,” he says, “ _That’s it_.”

 

“Hmm,” Ezria hums.

 

 He stands up slowly. He seems taller with his wings out, Calmos thinks.

 

“And you go places the young ones won’t?” he asks, slowly approaching Calmos.

 

Calmos nods.

 

“I imagine that can be quite dangerous,” he says, getting closer to Calmos.

 

Calmos slowly backs away from the bucket.

 

“It can be,” he says, backing up further.

 

“Hopefully you bring your blades with you,” Ezria says.

 

“Always,” Calmos says as he lifts a section of his shirt to show the handles of his blades tucked inside his waistband.

 

Ezria glances down at them for a moment to confirm they are there. His eyes move up to Calmos, then back down to the blades for a second look. Something was different about them. He stops moving forward and looks at them, curiosity in his eyes.

 

“Those are … different,” he says.

 

Calmos notices his pause and glances down at the blades briefly before looking back to Ezria.

 

“Yes, my father made them for me,” he says, “he is a blade maker.”

 

Ezria reaches a hand out, curiosity still behind his eyes.

 

“May I?” he asks, his tone no longer imposing.

 

Calmos looks at him, unable to gauge if he should or shouldn’t. Ezria looks up towards him. There is a softness behind his eyes that makes Calmos feel safe, despite a few moments ago feeling like he might need to protect himself.  He liked that feeling, being safe.

 

Warily, he reaches out and places both blades in Ezria’s hand.

 

Ezria looks at them, he turns and twists the blades in his hand. They aren’t merely curved upwards like the other blades he has seen.

 

Instead, they are jagged at the hilt. Spines of sharpened steel jut out from an otherwise smooth and curved edge. Inside the blade itself are deep and irregular grooves that further turns the flat slide of the blade into an equally deadly surface.

 

“Oh, my,” Ezria says, intensely pleased by this.

 

He turns the blade and holds it in his hand. It’s lightweight and comfortable. He looks up to Calmos, who seems pleased by his admiration.

 

“This is excellent work,” he says.

 

Calmos smiles.

 

“My father is an excellent smith,” he says.

 

Ezria nods and smiles. Calmos reaches out a hand to return his blades. Ezria stares at his outreached hand, then looks back to Calmos.

 

Slowly, Calmos’ smile fades as an inky blackness fills Ezria’s eyes, and a wicked smile crooks onto his face. Calmos’ eyes widen. He lurches forward to try to grab his knives, but Ezria is fast and tosses the knives clear across the room.

 

He then slowly approaches Calmos.

 

“You didn’t think you could disrespect me so easily and get away with it, did you?” he asks.

 

Calmos backs up until he hits the wall near the doorway. Ezria approaches him and stands in front of him. He reaches an arm out and plants it right by his head.

 

“That’s no way to treat an Angel is it?” he asks, a smile on his face.

 

Ezria leans in, his face exceptionally close to Calmos.

 

“Now, how will we remedy this? Hmm?” he asks, as he backs up slightly and allows his eyes to cascade down Calmos’s body. Calmos inhales deeply and ducks beneath his arm and runs to his blades.

 

Ezria whips around and intercepts him, flying as fast as his wings can take him. He grabs Calmos and tosses him against the wall next to where the basin was. He holds him in place, his hands gripping either arm.

 

“What do you want?!” Calmos screams.

 

“I want you to fear me!” Exria says, his voice deep and guttural.

 

Calmos turns to him and stares into the void that is his eyes. For a moment, Ezria gets his wish. Calmos is wrought with fear. Then the fear behind his eyes fades to curiosity, then understanding. This was a show, it wasn't real. It was clear to him that Ezria didn't want to hurt him, he just wanted to prove a point.

 

“I can’t,” he says calmly, as his eyebrows furrow. Ezria’s smile cools before being replaced with anger.

 

“Fear me!” he screams, this time more demanding.

 

“Why me?” he asks, “There are an endless amount of demons with whom this tactic would be more effective. Why me?!”

 

Ezria’s anger cools. He tries to bring it back, furrowing his face and spreading his wings further, but it is clear Calmos doesn’t fear him.

 

Frustrated, he pushes Calmos into the wall and lets him go, walking away. He walks to the center of the room and begins pacing; brooding. Calmos watches him for a moment before turning his eyes to his blades.

 

Cautiously he approaches them and picks them up. He grips them in his hand. He stands there, watching Ezria pace the room. He waits to see if he might need to fight, his blades having tasted demon blood several times. He doesn’t know how he would fare against an immortal, though.

 

Once convinced the trouble has passed, he relaxes his shoulders. He continues to watch Ezria. This Angel was strange, but … he understood his frustration. He wanted the others to fear him, but it was clear they didn’t. If it weren’t for his blades, and knowing how to use them, Calmos might have been dead and eaten already. But an Angel? An Angel had no fear of death; he commanded it.

 

This Angel was different, though, he thought. His narrows his eyes, but why?

 

“Why do you want them to fear you?” Calmos asks, tucking the blades into his pants, “ Lucifer led us by giving us our autonomy. I mean, sure there is a healthy level of fear there but … never _just_ fear.”

 

Ezria turns to him, the darkness behind his eyes fading. He sighs and sits on his chair.

 

“My apologies for the way I acted,” he says, “I … I don’t know what came over me.”

 

He looks up at Calmos and Calmos can sense the sincere regret in his eyes. It’s not something he’s seen before in the eyes of those who weren’t human. Most demons don’t have guilt.

 

He slowly moves over to the seat by Ezria and cautiously sits.

 

 Ezria looks at him oddly.

 

“You … you may leave if you want to. I ..,”

 

He turns to the bucket of water, then turns back to Calmos.

 

“I don’t have a basin. You can return when I have one,” he says,” If you want. I understand if you don’t.”

 

Ezria turns away from Calmos, his head spinning with his own thoughts. He wanted to be alone.

 

“You never answered my question,” Calmos says, “Why do you want us to fear you?”

 

Ezria turns to him, and he can see the intrigue behind Calmos’ eyes.

 

“Because I want you … _them_ to take me seriously. I want them to fear me,” he says, "That is what I desire."

 

\--

 

In the Silver City, a young Samael perches precariously on the edge of the balcony, his eyes lit with flame as he raises a hand and repositions the stars. Behind him, a door opens and in walks Ezria. Even as children, they both look the exact same with the only difference being the light brown eyes of Ezria.

 

Samael turns to him, knocked out of his concentration.

 

“Ezria, come! Come look at what I’ve done,” he says a smile on his face.

 

Ezria turns to him, a look of sadness in his eyes.

 

Samael frowns and jumps off the balcony.

 

“What is wrong brother?” he says.

 

Ezria reaches over and scratches his arm.

 

“Nothing, I … it’s nothing.”

 

“Oh come on,” Samael says with a smile, “I can sense there is something wrong. You and I share the same celestial material, remember?”

 

Ezria sighs and slumps his shoulders.

 

“They won’t let me fly with them,” he says.

 

Samael scrunches up his face.

 

“Who won’t let you fly with them?” he asks.

 

“Laratheal and Jeremiah.”

 

Samael scoffs and places a hand on Ezria’s shoulder, “You don’t want to fly with them anyway. They are slow and upset because mother won’t sing to them anymore.”

 

A cheeky smile forms in the corner of Ezria’s face. Samael smiles and turns back to the stars.

 

“Let me show you what I’ve done!” he says as he grabs Ezria’s arms and pulls him to the edge of the balcony.

 

He points up into the sky, “There,” he says, “I’m going to make one for each new crescent moon. That one is us.”

 

“Where?” Ezria says, climbing up on the edge of the balcony, stretching his little body to get a better view.

 

He stands on the edge, trying to catch his balance. He almost tips and falls over before Samael grabs his arm. Instantly, Ezria spreads his wings to catch himself. They are white like Samael’s, and the tips look dipped in gold.

 

“Watch yourself, brother,” Samael says, waiting until Ezria has his balance before letting him go.

 

“There,” Samael says, the fires in his eyes lighting up as the stars he points at burn brighter, “I made us a scorpion. So, no matter where we go on the mortal plane, we can look up and see ourselves.”

 

“A scorpion? What is that?” Ezria asks.

 

“It’s one of the creatures for the mortals. It has hands that tear and a tail that stings with poison.”

 

Ezria shakes his head, “Why that one?”

 

Samael looks at him, an odd look on his face, “Which one would you prefer?”

 

Ezria shrugs, “I don’t know … I saw the fish creature they made. That one seemed pretty pleasant.”

 

Samael shakes his head and laughs, “No, brother. You and I are scorpions.”

 

“Why?” he asks.

 

Samael shrugs, “Why not?”

 

Ezria watches as Samael turns back to the stars. He looks on, watching more stars form and die as Samael rearranges the sky like a sculptor chips a sculpture from marble.

Ezria looks on at Samael, the passion behind his eyes makes him feel sad. He had yet to be given his task, it was almost like … he had no purpose. He sighs and climbs down from the railing of the balcony.

 

Just then, the doors to the observatory burst open, and two fledglings come running in.

 

They play happily with one other. One jumps and flies into the air before dive-bombing the other, who moves out of the way just in time. They giggle with one another. Samael and Ezria turn to them.

 

“Brothers,” Ezria says, holding his hand out, “be careful. There are many artifacts in here.”

 

They stop for a second and look at Ezria before laughing and mimicking his words back to him.

 

“Don’t have fun!” one says in a funny voice.

 

“I’m Ezria, _pay attention to me,_ ” the other says.

 

“Do not mock me!” Ezria says, stepping forward, a wave of anger boiling inside him.

 

“Go back to your studies!” one of them says.

 

“Yeah, stop bothering those of us with tasks,” the other says.

 

 They laugh and exit out the opposite end of the room. Ezria is livid. He’s so angry that a red flame starts to grow behind his eyes.

 

“Ignore them,” Samael says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

 

The fire dies down, and he turns to Samael. Samael looks at Ezria with a look of love and understanding. Ezria reluctantly lets his anger fade.

 

“Their task is to watch the tower when they are old enough,” Samael says, “Between you and me, I imagine our tasks are much more important.”

 

Samael turns back to the stars. Ezria’s eyes shift back to the stars as well, his smile fades.

 

“What if I don’t get a task?” he asks.

 

Samael turns to him and smiles.

 

“Brother, your task will be the greatest,” he says with great certainty, “Mine is to form the stars so who knows what yours might be.”

 

Ezria smiles and nods. He looks onto his brother with such love. His smile fades again as Samael climbs back onto the balcony.

 

“Sorry to disturb your work,” Ezria says, “I suppose I will go back to my studies.”

 

Samael watches as Ezria skulks away. He can still sense a sadness within him.

 

“Ezria,” he says.

 

Ezria turns and looks at him, “yes?”

 

“Come stay with me. I could use the company.”

 

A soft smile comes to his face, and he nods, “Very well Brother,” he says happily, “Perhaps you can tell more about these scorpions

 

\--

 

Back in Hell, Ezria and Calmos sit in the center of the room with the balcony. Ezria sighs and cautions a glance to Calmos. Calmos looks out onto the balcony. Ezria can’t see his eyes, but the way he stares makes him seems s thought he is in deep thought.

 

“What do you want?” he asks.

 

Calmos turns to him. _Why was he asking that?_

 

“Truly,” he says, “What is your desire. A demon who spends their time carrying water instead of torturing humans? Or … playing funny instruments instead of …I don’t know, enjoying the sweat pits? You must desire something?”

 

Calmos shrugs.

 

 He lowers his eyes to his hands and leans forward.

 

“I don’t know,” he says.

 

Ezria looks at him, his eyes narrow.

 

“I think you do,” he says, sitting up and leaning closer to Calmos.

 

Calmos shakes his head, “You’re going to think it’s foolish.”

 

Ezria smiles, “Oh, come now, Calmos.”

 

Calmos turns to him, shocked.

 

“You … you remembered my name.”

 

Ezria pauses and thinks about it for a second. He, too is shocked.

 

“I suppose I did,” he says, “So? What do you desire?”

 

Calmos shakes his head and stares back at the ground. He didn’t have it in him. He carried the water. He played a strange instrument. He was half the size of other demons. He just … he didn’t have it in him. He didn’t see how anyone could –

 

Ezria stares at him, his eyes squint and for a moment when he thinks he sees it. His eyes narrow, and a curious tone falls into his voice.

 

“You want them to fear you too, don’t you?” he asks.

 

Calmos cautions a glance up at him as a wide smile comes over Ezria’s face. Ezria let’s go a hearty chuckle, and Calmos rolls his eyes.

 

“See? I told you it was foolish,” he says, standing up.

 

Ezria continues to laugh. How could he and this demon have the same desire?

 

“I know my station,” he says, “I was born small and weak …I get that. To think I could be anything other than- “

 

Suddenly, Ezria stops laughing, a seriousness falling over his face. He stands up, “No."

 

Calmos looks at him as darkness bleeds into Ezria's eyes.

 

“We are not limited by our bodies, only our minds. Do you know how long I spent in that cage?” he asks, slowly approaching Calmos.

 

Calmos doesn’t get the same sense that he is trying to intimidate him.

 

“No,” he says, not feeling the need to retreat from his approach.

 

“Long enough to know that I will _never_ go back,” he says, “I don't belong here. I _want_ to go home. And if that requires every being in my path – demon or angel - fall beneath my wrath then so be it. I want them to fear me, so that when I command them to fight ... they fight.”

 

He approaches Calmos and plants a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Would you like to join me?” he asks, "to fulfill our desires together?"

 

Calmos looks towards Ezria’s hand, then back to Ezria. He stares into the void of his dark eyes. It is black and empty, but he swears he sees something else. It makes him feel safe and wanted. It makes him feel like he has a purpose.

 

There is a silence there as he stares into his eyes.

 

“Yes … my lord,” he says finally.

 

Ezria smiles a wicked smile.

 

“Then take me to your Father. I have a task for him.”

 

\--

 

Daniel sits in the corner of his hotel room, his knees pulled up to his chest, and his eyes tightly shut. This hotel room is much different than the last, but it is clear he has spent many hours here.

 

He whispers something beneath his breath as he rocks to soothe himself. It doesn’t work. A chorus of voices whisper around him, all vying for his attention. He tries to block them out with his own words, but nothing helps. Nothing makes It stop. Slowly, the voices begin to subside as they are drowned out by one singular voice. It sounds familiar, but he can’t place it.

 

“Daniel,” it whispers to him, it echoes somewhere inside his head.

 

This time, the letters in the right place but the pronunciation a bit off. It sounds familiar like he should know who it is, but he can’t place it. It sits on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Daniel,” it says again, but this time it is clear. It has weight to it and sounds like it is coming from the room. Slowly, he risks opening his eyes. The room looks like he had left it, except near his bed, tucked into a dark corner of the room is a figure.

 

His eyes move from confusion to fear and then to curiosity.

 

The figure stands with its back towards him, but he can tell it is a woman; a tall woman. She is completely nude.

 

“H-H-Hello?” he says.

 

The figure stands there silently. Slowly, its shoulders lower as if relaxing. Daniel looks on. He should feel fear, he should be terrified, but for some reason, he doesn’t. Instead, he feels …calm.

 

Slowly, the figure’s head begins to turn. Daniel watches, the fear he had just been missing suddenly returning. When he seemingly didn’t have its attention, things were fine, but now it seemed he had made his presence known; he was no longer hidden.

 

He watches, unable to look away as the figure’s head turns. His eyes go from fear to awe as the figure’s face is revealed only to see an endless galaxy in place of where its face should be. Instead of eyes, there were stars, and instead of a mouth, there was a galaxy.

 

“Daniel,” it calls to him, a voice so deep it vibrates his entire being.

 

He stands there, eyes wide as tears run down his face. These aren’t fearful tears. Instead, they are tears of joy and wonder. It was like he was staring into all of existence, or that all of the existence was staring into him.

 

He stands up and slowly begins to walk towards the figure. It has no eyes, but it feels like it is staring directly into the center of who he is, and what it sees it accepts with open arms.

 

He slowly walks forward, one step in front of the other like a toddler learning to walk. His eyes never leave that galaxy. He gets closer until he stands within arm’s reach from the figure. He stands there, his whole being absorbed in this unending love.

 

Suddenly the stars dim and what is left of the galaxy becomes an endless black void.

The awe in his eyes is replaced by one thing; fear.

That eternal feeling of love he once had is replaced by anger, and the being in front of him no longer feels like a haven. It feels like … _a trap._

 

Suddenly the being wraps both its arms around his and pushes him up against the wall. Daniel reaches down to try and pull the arms from around his waist, but they are too tight. Slowly he looks up at the being, they are face to what should be a face. Daniel places his hands on its shoulders, keeping it from coming any closer.

 

“No!” he yells, panic rising in him.

The room begins to vibrate, and a painting behind the bed falls off the wall. In the endless void of this being’s face forms a single star. The star gets larger and larger until he is staring into a white light that radiates and casts his entire face in a blinding light.

 

He shuts his eyes tightly and turns his head. He risks an open eye only to see the light has flooded the entire room now. Behind the blinding light to his left, he sees the door to his hotel room, and suddenly he is filled with only one desire; _escape_.

 

He turns back to the being, who pushed against his arms, trying to get closer. He turns back to the door. A wave of panic comes over him. In one smooth move, he forms his left hand into a fist and punches the being hard. It reacts slightly, but not enough to move it.

It is clear that his punch didn’t hurt anyone but himself. He places his hand back on the shoulders of the being, as it pushes closer. Its face getting too close to Daniel’s. The light coming from it is blinding and pure whiteness. He turns to the table on which the TV sits and sees a lamp.

 

He crosses his left hand to the being’s neck and pushes down as he lurches to the right. It gets him enough distance from the creature to grab the lamp with his right hand. He turns as he raises the lamp and smashes it down onto the creature's head.

 

The impact sends it to the floor as the ceramic lamp shatters. Without a second thought, he jumps over the creature and runs towards the door. He grabs the handle and pulls the door open, but the chain is still on. He closes the door and quickly undoes the chain, his hands shaking. Then he swings the door open and runs out into the well-lit hallway.

 

He hits the wall across from him and turns as the door to his hotel room closes. His breathing is still ragged and his hands still shaking as he stares into the closing door only to find there is nothing there. He looks up and down the hallway, and there is no one. He begins to get choked up. He walks to the door just as it is about to lock and pushes it open. He stares into the empty and dark room.

 

He thinks, trying to figure out if that was real. His lips quiver as he begins to break. He doesn’t know what is real anymore. When will this end? His face falls flat, backing off the ledge of a mental breakdown. Behind his eyes grows a new resolve. He enters the room and slides out the iron board from the closet near the door. He props it up against the door to keep it open.

 

Cautiously he enters the room and looks around. There is nothing, no one, there. He hurries to his suitcase and begins packing it.

He will end this, he thinks, the only way he knows how. He can’t do it here though ... this hotel is too nice for what he is about to do.

It’s too clean for him to get it so … _dirty._

 

 

 


	9. Daniel at the Crossroads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maze starts to hunt for Dan, Lucifer's dreams begin to affect his waking life, Chloe struggles with focusing, and Dan makes a harsh decision.

 

Inside Ella’s bedroom, Maze lays sprawled out and face down on Ella’s queen-sized bed. It is unclear whether she has spent the whole night in full possession of the bed or whether Ella was able to squeeze into the small spots where her arms and legs aren’t. 

 

Slowly, she begins to stir as the birds outside chirp louder and louder, and the intensity of sunlight seeping between nearby blinds is no longer escapable.

 

She turns onto her side, smacking her lips and wiping the drool from the corner of her mouth with her hands. She lays there for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth beneath her eyelids. Slowly, they open, and she’s met with the sunny side of Ella’s bedroom. She looks around for a moment to gather her bearings before sitting up.

 

The events of the evening before begin to fill her mind, and a smile comes to her face. She chuckles to herself and tosses the covers to the side. It was funny to her that she was the one that fell asleep this time. She should have known it was going to happen, she thinks, she hadn’t slept since her return from hell. She stands up and elongates her limbs. They pop and crack as she stretches.

 

Suddenly, her phone dings and she turns to her crumpled up pants on the floor. She leans down and picks up her pants before sifting through the pockets for her phone. Once she finds it, she unlocks it to see she has a new notification; a new bounty.

 

She smiles. She tosses the phone onto the bed and turns the leg of her pants straight so she can slip her leg into it. The notification disappears, and she turns to her phone as her home screen becomes visible. Her home screen background is a picture of her and Trixie. She smiles to herself as she slips her other leg into her pants and pulls it up to her waist. She never thought she would be friends with a human child, but … she supposes there is much room for new things in life. She wouldn’t have any of her own, but if anyone tried to harm Trixie, she would enjoy torturing them more than usual.

 

She moves her hands to button and zips her pants when it crosses her mind that she made a promise to Chloe. She turns her glance back to the phone as it grows dark. She didn’t really have any opinion about Dan, like or dislike. He wasn’t important enough to have an opinion about, but he _was_ Trixie’s father. If something was wrong, she had to help. She hasn’t had the opportunity to see Trixie hurt, and she doesn’t think she wants to.

 

Plus, it would be good to get Decker out of the house. Ever since Dan had been gone, she spent every waking second with Trixie. For the day or so she was back from hell, it wasn’t too bad. But, in the long run, it would spoil her chance to bring strangers home. She nods to herself and reaches down to the floor to pick up her shirt. She walks out of Ella’s bedroom, a determination in her eyes. The hunt was on.

 

She slips her arms into the sleeves of her shirt as she approaches the sofa. Once there, she plops down on the seat and gathers her shoes. She slips the boots onto her feet one by one before tying the laces tighter than usual. She imagines she might be kicking in doors today, can’t have her shoes flying off.

Her eyes briefly turn to the game console beneath the TV. Once she sees it, she slouches and pauses what she is doing. She completely forgot she wanted to play that game. She sighs and grabs her jacket off the couch before standing back up. _Last night was a total waste_ , she thinks.

 

She slides the jacket on as she heads towards the door. She reaches out to the handle and swings it open before stepping outside.

The door slowly begins to close. Right as it is about to latch, Maze pushes it open and comes back in.

 

“Okay, one game,” she says to herself as she makes a B-line for the console.

 

\--

 

Lucifer sits on the corner of Chloe’s desk with his legs comfortably crossed as he flips through a file in his hand. He brings his wrist up to glance at his watch. Chloe is later than usual. The thought crosses his mind that he should be worried. _He was starting to worry._

 

“Is that a new suit?”

 

He looks up to see Ella standing nearby, her head tilted as if there was something off about him she couldn’t quite pinpoint. He looks down to see he is wearing an entirely white pin-stripe suit with a blue pocket square. His eyes glaze in shock and confusion; this was definitely not his first choice. He doesn’t even recall _owning_ a white suit.

 

“I … I suppose so,” he says, looking back up at her.

 

She smiles.

 

“I like it, it … _suits_ you,” she says, emphasis on the word suit. She smiles, and Lucifer chuckles.

 

“Excellent pun Ms. Lopez,” he says.

 

“What are you two up to now?” Chloe asks as she walks around the front of her desk and sits in her chair, paying full attention to the case file in front of her.

 

“We were just laughing at a delightful pun Ms. Lopez made,” he replies.

 

Ella curtsey’s and goes back to her lab. Lucifer turns to Chloe as she seems completely invested in whatever is in that file. His eyes drop to it, and he places his finger on one side of the folder and pulls it down so he can read it.

 

“Is that the new case?” he asks.

 

She looks up at him, “Yeah, it’s a double murder at a –“

 

Chloe’s eyes trail up and pause as she looks on this bright white suit Lucifer is wearing. She looks over him oddly.

 

“Is that a new suit?” she asks.

 

He sits back pleased that she has finally noticed him.

 

‘Yes, I don’t particularly care for the color, but I have to say the reaction is … _quite_ enjoyable.”

 

She stares at him, her eyes crawling every inch of his body and the look within her eyes changes. Suddenly, she shuts the file and sets it on her desk before looking around.

 

“Can I speak with you?” she asks, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards an interrogation room.

 

“Detective,” he says, “Slow down.”

 

He enters the room behind her and shuts the door.

 

“Whatever it is,” he says as he turns around, “I’m sure it ca-“

 

Suddenly her lips meet his feverishly. He is taken aback for a second until his mouth readily melts into her own. He pushes her back against the wall, and their hands instinctively find the buttons and belts of their clothing and free themselves from restriction. She steps out of the restricting legs of her pants and lowers her underwear, stepping out of them as well.

 

“I need you _now_ ,” she breathlessly begs.

 

She pushes herself off the wall and walks backwards until she is at the edge of the interrogation table. She grabs the collar of his shirt and pulls him closer, laying his body on top of hers. Suddenly he is inside her again, it seems fast – too fast, but the way she feels gives him little room for pause.

 

“Lucifer,” she moans into his ear as he thrusts into her. It’s what he has always wanted, to hear her say his name like that. He closes his eyes, needing his mind to purely focus on how she feels. How warm she was, how soft her skin was, how well she grips the shaft of his cock with her body.

 

“Chloe,” he whispers, feeling himself becoming insanely close to orgasm already. He closes his eyes, blocking out any visual input so he can feel everything.

 

_Everything._

 

Suddenly he feels whole, like an emptiness within him is disappearing as his cup runs over with love and light. At this moment nothing matters but her and him; _them_.

 

“Lucifer,” she moans, it’s music to his ears; like a single note that send shivers down his spine.

 

It causes every hair on his body to stand on edge. He had wanted this for so long, and he had got it not in the bedroom of his penthouse, but here – in the station’s interrogation room where anyone could walk in and see them giving in to the ultimate temptation.

 

“Lucifer,” she screams, a strained lust spilling from her throat.

 

\--

 

Chloe’s voice echoes into nothingness as Lucifer pops open his eyes to find himself standing naked in a field at night. He looks around for a moment to catch his bearings. He doesn’t recognize where he is. Suddenly the wholeness he felt disappears, and it is painfully apparent he is empty; _hollow._

 

A breeze rolls by and hits every inch of his skin. Every inch of his body feels light; soulless. He feels every second of his solitude. Before he had been blind to it but now, it was glaringly obvious. He realizes he is naked and looks down to confirm. He exhales. It carries with it the sound of annoyance as if this weren’t the first time he found himself standing nude in a seemingly endless field.

 

The moon sits above him almost as if it were watching him. It casts everything in a blue haze. He looks forward as something catches his eyes. There, a few feet in front of him, the silhouette of a figure slowly stands from a crouched position in the tall grass. Lucifer’s face falls from confusion to intrigue.

 

The moon hits the figure’s face, and he recognizes what he sees. It’s him, in full devil form; his face red and angry, but his eyes black and hollow. His devil form stares back at him, a sinister curiosity in its face.

 

Lucifer takes a step back, and the form takes a step forward. Lucifer takes two steps back, and the form takes two steps forward. He turns to see how much room he has behind him to run. Behind him, the field is endless, and the tall grass goes past the horizon. He turns back to the form only to see it missing. He looks around; _where did it go?_

 

Suddenly, the moon goes out as if someone flicked a light switch.

 

It is pitch black, to the point where he can’t see his hand in front of him. He can hear and feel the slight breeze brushing the tall grass at his feet. The wind picks up, carrying with it an indistinguishable howl.

 

His heart begins to race. _Something doesn’t feel right._

 

_\--_

 

Suddenly, he is standing on bare dirt, surrounded by a thick white, and bright fog. He reaches up to shield his eyes from the change of light. Slowly they grow acclimated, and he looks around. The fog is so thick, he can only see a few feet in front of him. Still, there seems to be no one around.

 

He thinks he sees movement in his peripheral vision and turns to it. Still, the fog is thick.

 

“Hello?” he says.

 

His voice echoes out into the space around him. He hears movement to his left and turns to see nothing but white fog.

 

“Hello?” he says again, but again his voice echoes into nothingness.

 

Behind him, he hears movement and _whips_ around only to be met with nothing. His heart begins to beat faster, and an unfamiliar fear washes over him.

 

_There is something in the fog._

 

This new fear crawls up his spine and digs into every vertebra and send electrical signals through every muscle his body.

 

Run, a voice in his head says.

 

 _Run!_ it screams.

 

Movement behind him forces him to whip around again. He panics and turns to run behind him. He runs carelessly through the fog, unable to see where he is going or what is in front of him. Still, he runs; fearful. It is a fear he’s never dealt with before; it is mortal. It clings to his skin and weighs his arms down. He picks up his bare feet, they feel like he is wearing heavy shoes.

 

Suddenly he stops, dust kicking up beneath his dirty toes. He skids to a halt; his knees sliding to the ground and his hands slicing themselves on sharp black pebbles. Whatever is in the fog, he can sense it all around him; closing in.

 

He sits back onto his knees and waits, his heart beating impossibly fast in his chest. He has nowhere left to run. It’s only a matter of time before he finds what is in the fog. He can feel it circle him. He turns to look at his hands in front of him, bloodied and rotting.

\--

Suddenly he’s falling again, into endless darkness. Things here are still and quiet. It would be peaceful if he weren’t falling; careening into the infinite void of space. He looks up for a moment as the stars get smaller and farther away. He reaches his hands into his face, instead of blood and rot, he finds they are pink and glow with a faint gold aura.

 

Then, his whole-body lights ablaze. Fire crawls through every pore on his body. He cries out as every inch of his flesh burns off, exposing the muscle and fat beneath. The red flame on his skin is only offset around his eyes, where a bright blue flame pierces through. His cries echo into darkness, and he continues to fall.

 

\--

 

Inside of the penthouse, Lucifer’s alarm blares and he _shoots_ up in bed; a layer of sweat formed on his brow. He leans back onto his palms and looks around confused for a moment until he realizes where he is. He reaches up and wipes the sweat off his brow.

 

He looks around the stillness of his penthouse and wonders if this too were a dream. He pauses as if to assess whether it was real or not. The alarm still blares next to him.

 

He turns to his alarm clock to see it is 8:00 a.m. and lets out a sigh. It would be his technical first day back, and he was already going to be late. He must have slept through the first two alarms. He reaches down and whips off the sheets before planting his feet on the ground.  He reaches over and slaps the alarm clock; it falls silent. He pauses in this silence for a moment and turns to confirm his sheets are soaked in sweat.

 

It had been a while since he had such intense nightmares. Just behind his eyes sits a worry as he logs the dreams with his missing ash and his sudden lack of _enthusiasm_ for beautiful women. He sighs and stands up, stretching his body.

 

He heads to the steps and descends them before turning to a panel on the wall by the bar. It is the thermostat. It reads 69 degrees.

 

His furrows his eyebrows. His penthouse was already so cold. How he had managed to sweat so profusely in his sleep makes no se-

 

 “You’re up early.”

 

Lucifer turns and peers into his living room to see Amenadiel comfortably sitting on the couch, thumbing through his phone.

 

“Judging by the sounds you were making, you either had a really good dream or a really bad dream,” he says turning to Lucifer.

 

Lucifer stands there, watching him as if annoyed.

 

“How the hell…”

 

Lucifer answers his own question in his mind. _He forgot to lock the balcony_. He lets go a deep sigh then walks behind the bar and pulls out a decanter of orange juice from the mini-fridge.

 

“You came in through the balcony, didn’t you?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel nods, and stands up from the chair, putting the phone in his pocket.

 

 “You know your elevator isn’t working, right?” he says, approaching the bar.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “It works just fine so long as you have the key,” he says, pouring a glass of orange juice.

 

He brings the glass up to his lips and chugs it down. He sets the glass on the table and turns to Amenadiel.

 

“Now, to whom do I owe the displeasure of seeing your face this early?” he asks.

 

That was a hostile greeting if he ever heard one, Amenadiel thinks. He ignores it and goes on with his inquiry.

 

 “I came to see if everything turned out okay … you know, with you and Chloe.”

 

Lucifer’s eyes narrow.

 

“At 8 in the morning?”

 

Amenadiel shrugs, “Would you rather I show up to the station?”

 

Lucifer scoffs and turns to head back to his bathroom.

 

“As much as I appreciate your pretend concern, Amenadiel, I am not blind. I realize you only helped me because you have an ulterior motive, whatever it might be,” he says.

 

Amenadiel chuckles, “Is it so bad that I want to see you happy?”

 

Lucifer turns to him and his eyes narrow, “You -,”

 

Lucifer laughs to himself as if he can’t believe what he is hearing.

 

“You’ve spent your entire existence hovering over me like a prisoner and subverting my every move, yet suddenly my happiness is a concern to you? Do you really expect me to believe that? Or do you take me for some sort of fool?” he says, approaching Amenadiel.

 

Amenadiel calmly nods, “I realize we haven’t had the best of relationships but … that was before you, and I had something in common; something to lose.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “You and I are nothing alike, brother. Don’t insult me by suggesting we are. I haven’t spent the last millennium at the beck and call of that _tyrant_.”

 

Amenadiel stands, the chair scooting beneath him. He poises himself to say something, an offense just behind his eyes, but pauses. He gathers his thoughts. He calms himself.

 

“Luci, I just want to help you.”

 

“ _Lies!_ ” he screams, a fire in his eyes starting to flicker, “You only want to control me! I will not be controlled.”

 

Amenadiel steps backward, confusion in his eyes. Lucifer was … angry. He pauses to think about the situation to confirm he had no reason to be so upset, yet he was. Something was bothering him.

 

“Lucifer,” he says, “I am telling you the truth.”

 

Lucifer stands, his fists clenched and his stance indicating he was prepared to fight. Amenadiel sees his positioning then looks into his eyes. There is a flame there, but behind it is a Lucifer he doesn’t recognize. He seems like a wild animal in fight or flight mode that is clearly choosing to fight.

 

Amenadiel holds his hands out as if to calm him down. If he needed to fight, he could, but there was something off about him that made him think a fight now would be unfair. After what he did to Abel, he doesn’t know if it is a fight he could win.

 

“Look, you and I are alike. We may have had our differences, but … we may be the only two Angels in existence who are in love with mortal women. _Love_ , Luci, not just … physical release.”

 

Lucifer’s fists unfurl as he glances down. He thinks about her, about almost losing her. He wonders what that might have been like, losing her again. Being forced to watch her day in and day out and know she didn’t love him anymore; knowing he could never have her. He knows, even if Amenadiel had ulterior motives, he was the one who saved him from that curse. He would rather go back to hell than to stay here and watch her love someone else again.

 

“I know you don’t believe this whole … _prophecy thing_ or whatever you want to call it,” Amenadiel continues, lowering his hands as he sees the fire in Lucifer’s eyes begin to fade, “but Luci, I’m going, to be honest …I’m scared. I’m scared for you, for Linda, for Chloe.”

 

Lucifer looks up at him. His eyes roam over him as if trying to decipher whether he is telling the truth. He surmises that he is.

 

“This world has such a delicate balance of good and evil," Amenadiel continues, "If you lose your role in Hell, what happens? What happens to all those mortals down there? All those demons? What about here on earth? What will happen to the people we’ve grown to care about, maybe even love?”

 

“Ezria will handle them,” Lucifer says, his demeanor now softened but clearly still not interested in what Amenadiel has to say. It is all what Father wants, he thinks, to manipulate him further using the Detective. He will not allow it this time.

 

He turns back to the bar to pour himself another drink, this time whiskey. He reaches over the bar for a glass and pulls it up. He accidentally knocks it on the side of the bar, shattering a part of it and sending a shard of glass crashing to the counter. It snaps into two pieces on the bar top.

 

He groans in frustration. His patience was uncharacteristically thin.

 

“Ezria is weak,” Amenadiel says, “He isn’t a natural leader like you. This is what you were born to do. If you won’t do it, fine. I understand. I’ve long since come to terms with my failure of that task, but this Luci, this. We aren’t just talking about you not being king of hell, we are talking about you losing your connection to the celestial. A fall from grace is one thing, but this is a fall from … _everything_. You’d no longer be an Angel. Think of what that might mean for Chloe.”

 

Lucifer turns to him, his eyes furrowed.

 

“I would never hurt her,” he says.

 

“You might not, but … what about who you might become? How will we know? You nearly just cut my head off for suggesting we had similarities.”

 

Lucifer pauses. He thinks about it for a moment, the wheels spinning behind his eyes. He shrugs.

 

“Angels are hardly the pinnacle of perfection,” he says, “We spend our whole lives operating under the idea that if we do what we are told, we might experience a single millisecond of father’s love. And what do we get for that? Tossed into hell with demons? Sent to earth to guard the unworthy? Or maybe we can be you, endlessly vying for attention with vague and meaningless tasks.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, it is clear he doesn’t agree. It’s almost as if Amenadiel is talking into one ear and it goes directly out the other.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “You know why I don’t care, brother? Because it’s very apparent, he doesn’t care about me, about _any_ of us.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “That’s not true, Luci.”

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to the broken glass on the table.

 

“So as much as I appreciate your candor and I sympathize with you brother, I really do. I’m _done_ playing his games. I’m done chasing the breadcrumbs of his affection. Angels are obedient to a fault and live their lives beneath his thumb with little free will to do or think as they please. So, if I am changing into something else, I gladly accept that. Being an angel has gotten me nowhere. Perhaps it is time for a change.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “What if you become something worse?”

 

Lucifer chuckles, “What could _possibly_ be worse than an Angel?” he asks, reaching for the shard to clean the glass of the counter.

 

He picks it up without care and cuts himself, dropping the shard back onto the table and cracking it further into tinier pieces. Blood begins to pour from his finger. He winces in pain and pulls his hand back just as the elevator door opens and Chloe steps out. Chloe smiles as she enters and sees both Amenadiel and Lucifer standing there.

 

Amenadiel turns to the elevator and smiles. He turns back to Lucifer, who currently has his finger in his mouth.

 

“ _Of course_ , you gave her a key. Why don’t I get a key?” Amenadiel asks, a frown forming on his face.

 

“When you’ve reimbursed me for the cleaning I had to do to get the penthouse back to livable standards I will consider it,” Lucifer says replying.

 

Chloe comes around the bar and pauses as she sees Lucifer in his boxers. Her eyes instinctively move down to his crotch. Lucifer turns to Chloe and removes his fingers from his mouth.

“Detective,” he says, a softness and curiosity to his voice that implies he is attempting to test whether or not she is still angry at him. He had expected to find her at the station this morning, not at his penthouse and especially not after turning him down last night. Either she was diligent in her job, or she was no longer upset at him. Perhaps, he hopes, it was both.

 

Her eyes run over his body, and she shakes her head, moving that thought out of her mind. No, she was still upset with him she thinks, despite the small tingle between her legs suggesting otherwise.

 

“Lucifer,” she says, her tone upset, “I’ve been calling you for half an hour, and you aren’t even dressed.”

 

“My apologies, Detective. It seems I slept through my alarm.”

 

He smiles a broad smile, one that is impossible to wipe off his face. He is incredibly happy to see Chloe.

 

“I see you’ve used your key,” he says happily.

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“We’re going to be late!” she says, “Go … go put something on.”

 

He nods and turns back to the steps. Chloe watches him walk away, her eyes partially glazing over as she pictures him without boxers on.

 

She sighs. She was still angry at Lucifer, but … turns out she couldn’t just turn that feeling off. He had unlocked that desire in her, and she had allowed herself to entertain the thought … many, _many_ times. She couldn’t go back to not salivating over the thought of him in her mouth.

 

She thinks about his speech last night. She never thought, of anything, she would get his heart before his body. She wonders how long she could make him sweat before having to give in. A small devious smile crawls across her face, and her eyes slowly turn up to Amenadiel, to find him watching her with a smile on his face.

 

She drops her smile, seemingly caught in that thought process and adjusts herself; brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ears.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

He shakes his head and goes to sit on the bar.

 

“So,” he starts, ready to ask about her and Lucifer. He pauses for a moment, and his smile fades.

 

“How is Linda?” he asks, “Is she … okay?”

 

Chloe crosses her arms and smiles, “She’s … okay,” she says, “Maybe you should ask her yourself? We’ll all be downstairs tonight. You should swing by.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head and sits back, leaning his back against the bar.

 

“No, it’s probably best I not … you know, because of Maze.”

 

Chloe nods then narrows her eyes.

 

“Or, you could just talk to Maze about it.”

 

Amenadiel turns to her.

 

“Maze doesn’t seem to care too much anymore. She’s …,” Chloe begins to say.

 

What would she categorize her and Ella as? They weren’t dating, or even romantically intertwined but … maybe fuck buddies?

 

“… _preoccupied_ ,” Chloe says, thinking that is the best she could phrase it.

 

“If you really want to try something with Linda again, I’m sure putting her in the loop about it first might make her feel better,” she continues.

 

Amenadiel nods to himself, “That’s … actually not a bad idea.”

 

“You’re welcome,” she says with a smile.

 

The penthouse falls into silence as both Amenadiel and Chloe turn to his bedroom, waiting for Lucifer to come out of his closet. Chloe reaches into her pocket and presses the power button on her phone.

 

8:15 a.m. They were going to be late.

 

“Lucifer, we have to go!” she yells.

 

“Just a moment, Detective,” he yells back. They hear shuffling in the closet.

 

Amenadiel turns to Chloe and looks at her. The idea crosses his mind that she is mortal. That Lucifer was a full-blown adult, doing adult things when she was in diapers. Then he thinks about Linda, she wouldn’t be here forever either. He closes his eyes, he doesn’t want to process that thought; that their love was temporary. He opens his eyes again and looks at Chloe. Suddenly a sadness falls over him.

 

At least he would be able to see Linda again, in the Silver City. Once Chloe had shed her mortal vessel, Lucifer would never see her again. His eyes narrow. Perhaps that is what he was angry about? No, he thinks, he would be sad, not angry. The mere thought of not seeing Linda again – without so much as a goodbye – made him feel sad. No, it can’t be that it has to be something else.

 

He leans forward to Chloe, and she turns to him.

 

“Have you noticed anything … odd about Lucifer lately?” he asks.

 

She chuckles, “What isn’t odd about him?” she replies.

 

“No, I mean like … he seems more volatile than usually. Quick to anger.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, her eyebrows furrowing as if she has not noticed it, “No.”

 

Amenadiel sits back. Yes, something was off about him. _He was hiding something._

 

Lucifer comes out of the closet, fully dressed in a tight black suit with a red pocket square. He shoves a money clip into the inside pocket of his jacket as he quickly heads down the two steps.

 

“Okay, Detective, he says, “I am ready.”

 

“Great,” she says, turning to the elevator.

 

He turns to Amenadiel as he buttons a single button on his jacket.

 

“Now, will you be joining us in the elevator or should I open the balcony door for you?”

 

Amenadiel chuckles and stands before heading to the elevator.

 

\--

 

Lieutenant Edwards approaches her office door, a large handbag draped around an arm that also holds a large cup of coffee. She fumbles with her keys in the other hand, before finding the right key and opening the door. The door swings open as she walks in. She reaches up to take her sunglasses off before placing both the sunglasses and the keys on the table. She sets the coffee nearby and drops her handbag the ground. She pulls the chair out from her desk and flops into it, releasing a heavy sigh.

 

Today was going to be a long day, but in the end, it would be worth it, she thinks.

 

She sits up and goes to open her desk drawer only to find it locked. _Right_ , she thinks, she locks them before she leaves. She reaches over to grab the keys off her desk when she hears a gentle rap on the door and looks up to see Ella entering, paperwork in her hands.

 

“Good Morning Lieutenant,” she says.

 

“Ah,” the Lieutenant responds, a smile coming to her face, “Ms. Lopez! Early as usual.”

 

Ella smiles and approaches her desk.

 

“What can I do for you this morning, Ms. Lopez?” she says as she sticks the key into the lock but doesn’t turn it.

 

“I wanted to get your input on the Johnson case before I submit information into evidence,” she says.

 

“Excellent,” the Lieutenant says as she pushes everything on her desk aside.

 

Ella hands the papers to her and takes a seat at her desk.

 

The Lieutenant looks through the papers which consist of blood tests, coroners’ reports, crime scene evidence, and Ella’s own forensic report.

 

“Hmm,” the Lieutenant hums as she reads through.

 

“Duct Tape?” she says, looking up from the report to Ella.

 

Ella nods, “Nail scrapings indicated traces of resin and poly- “she begins.

 

“Right,” she says, interrupting her, “and how tightly you’d have to tie someone with duct tape to restrain them can account for the lacerations on the arms and legs.”

 

Ella nods.

 

The Lieutenant nods and reads on.

 

“Good,” she says.

 

“We still have a few interviews that need to be done, Chloe is lining them up. Particularly the fetish club that the victim and her husband visited.”

 

Suddenly the Lieutenant’s interest is piqued, an odd intrigue behind her eyes.

 

“Fetish club?” she asks.

 

Ella nods, “The victim and her husband were apparently regulars at a club by the pier where they participated in bondage play. We don’t have any leads that would make any of the people there lead suspects, but we need to write them off considering the lacerations and the victim’s involvement in the community.”

 

The Lieutenant nods, “I see."

 

She looks off into the distance as if running something through her ind. She turns back to Ella.

 

"And when do you think you might be holding these interviews?”

 

Ella shakes her head, “I don’t know. Chloe is in charge of interviewing suspects. I think she was waiting on Lucifer’s paperwork to come through. He has the tendency to get useful information out of people.”

 

The Lieutenant scoffs, she knows that too well.

 

“But this kind of clubs function off of anonymity so it won’t be something we can hold at the station,” Ella finishes.

 

The Lieutenant nods and stacks the papers back into one pile.

 

“and no lead yet on the possible murder weapon?”

 

Ella shakes her head, “I’ll be going back to the scene today to finalize evidence before releasing the scene to family. I’ll check anything that could have left the marks but … at this time we don’t have any concrete leads on a weapon.”

 

The Lieutenant nods and hands the papers back to Ella.

 

“Good work, Ms. Lopez, keep me posted.”

 

Ella nods and turns to exit.  She pauses for a moment then turns back to the Lieutenant.

 

 “Are you sure you don’t want to come out with us tonight?”

 

The Lieutenant looks at her oddly as if that came out of nowhere.

 

“It will be great! You can meet everyone, and you know … it would be great for synergy or whatever,” Ella says.

 

The Lieutenant smiles and sits back in her chair.

 

“As much as I appreciate the invite, Ms. Lopez, I have already made plans. Perhaps next time?”

 

Ella accepts and nods, “Okay, but we’ll be at LUX if you change your mind.”

 

The Lieutenant nods and Ella turns and leaves her office.

 

The Lieutenant watches her leave then sighs and sits back in her chair. Her eyes turn to the closed drawer on her desk. She grabs her keys off the desk and unlocks the drawer, sliding it open.

 

A polaroid photo of her and another woman sits on top of a stack of files. The other woman is her complete opposite. While the Lieutenant wears dark red lipstick with long flowing brunette hair and a maroon summer dress that clings to her body, the other woman wears little makeup with a loose strawberry blond ponytail. She too wears a summer dress, but a light pink cardigan hides the body beneath. It is clear they couldn’t be any more different, but it is also clear they couldn’t be any more in love.

 

At the bottom of the image, in handwritten pen, it says, “Nat and Liz, 2015.”

 

Natalie reaches in and picks up the photo. She eyeballs it, a look of nostalgia and sadness behind her eyes. She closes her eyes and puts the picture back in the desk before reaching in and grabbing a file.

 

She slides the drawer closes and gets to work. She reads the file, a sadness behind her eyes. Slowly that sadness fades, and there is nothing there. Just work. She becomes so involved in her work, she doesn’t even notice Chloe and Lucifer entering the station a half-hour late.

 

\--

 

Inside an empty hotel room, the electronic lock on the door blinks green and the door opens. Behind it, Maze peers into the room before slowly entering. The door shuts behind her as she slides the keycard into her pocket.

 

She looks around for any clue to where its previous occupant might have gone. The room looks put together, the bed was spread, and the cups on the nearby table were wrapped in plastic. She glances over to the table with the TV. It too is tidy and immaculate. Her eyes narrow, and she turns to enter the bathroom.

It is clean. A new roll of toilet paper sits on top of neatly folded towels on the sink.

 

“Huh,” she says, looking around the bathroom.

 

She sighs and takes a seat on the closed toilet lid, her mind running a million miles a second.

 

She’s not going to get any information on Dan if every room she goes to has been cleaned. She knows he was here, because he used his credit card, but … where was he going next? Why was he moving from hotel room to hotel room, trashing each one along the way?

 

Suddenly, she pauses as a stench fills her nose. It is sweet and heady and reminds her of home. She sniffs the air and peers down between her legs to see if it is coming from the toilet.

 

It smells like … fear.

 

She stands up and smells the air. That’s the one thing she loved about hotels. They were clean, sure, but they were never thorough. She sniffs the air again, getting closer to the sink. Nothing there.

 

She swivels around to the tub and pulls back the shower curtain. The tub is clean. Nothing there.

 

As she reaches the door, the scent gets stronger and more pungent. She tilts her head and slowly closes the door, locking her inside the bathroom. She leans closer to it, sniffing. The scent is strong, and she closes her eyes. She had wondered if she missed that smell after going back to hell; after realizing it was not what it used to be. _Turns out she did._

 

She takes a deep breath; her eyes closed. It’s like a fine wine. She opens her eyes and surveys the back of the door, and her eyes narrow.

 

She gets closer and runs her hand over it. At a specific spot in the door, her hand begins to drag. It’s a tiny difference, one not noticeable unless you are looking for it.

 

She leans in and licks the door, before standing back and letting the taste run through every taste bud in her mouth.

 

Sweat, she thinks, it was sweat. It smelled like him.

 

She places her hand back over the spot on the door and holds it until her fingers sit in all the places where the faint spots of dried sweat lie. It was a handprint.

 

She reaches out her other hand and places it nearby until she finds a second spot; another handprint. She leans into the door as if realizing he was standing right there – forcing the door to stay closed. He was terrified. Terrified enough to leave sweat prints on the door. Even days later, she could smell it in the air.

 

She leans off the door and stands back, before sitting back on the toilet. She leans back and crosses her arms and legs. She stares at the door and nods.

He was running, or is running, she thinks. Her eyes narrow further, but from who? Or what?

 

Was he in danger? Did he need help? It spurs a new desire to find him. One that isn’t for money or to uphold a promise to Chloe.

If he was in mortal danger, she needed to find him before it caught up with him. She doesn’t think she wanted to see Trixie go through that.

 

\--

 

Chloe casually walks into Ella’s Lab.

 

“Morning, Ella,” Chloe says as she approaches the lab table, “Where are we on the weapon?”

 

Ella turns around, busy drafting her final report on her tablet.

 

“I was just telling the Lieut-,” she begins, looking up just as Lucifer enters a few steps behind Chloe.

 

Her smile fades, and she stops talking. She hadn’t expected to see him here. The last time he and Chloe had a fight in the station, he was fired and didn’t show up the next day. Why she thought this time would be the same, she doesn’t know.

 

“Lucifer! … You’re here,” she says, shocked.

 

Her eyes dart back and forth from Chloe to him. She pauses, trying to figure out what to say, the discomfort plastered along her face.

 

Lucifer looks at her oddly, “Of course I am, why wouldn’t I?”

 

Ella nods and then stares out into space.

 

“Is everything … okay?” she asks, moving to the table and setting her tablet on it.

 

Lucifer raises his eyebrows. He supposes he did have an outburst in front of her the day before.

He inhales sharply and turns to Chloe, putting his hands in his pockets.

 

“Yes, well … my apologies,” he says, turning to Ella, “It was unfair for me to involve you in matters of the heart.”

 

“Awww,” Ella says, pushing her tablet to her chest and crossing her arms, “ _Matters of the heart_.”

 

Chloe laughs and looks at Lucifer who … is not at all pleased by Ella’s response. The look on his face only makes her laugh more.

 

Lucifer looks at Chloe then at Ella, his eyebrows furrowed. He doesn’t like this feeling at all. He was not a fool or a jester.

 

“Yes, my emotional pain _is_ quite humorous,” he says, annoyed.

 

Chloe sees the anger rising behind his eyes and her eyebrows furrow.

 

“Hey,” she says, catching his attention, “we’re just joking.”

 

She reaches out a hand and places it on his arm. It soothes him, and the fire dies down. Chloe looks at him oddly, starting to notice the temper Amenadiel had mentioned earlier.

 

“Right,” he says, sighing, “I suppose I’m just … a little …” he doesn’t finish that sentence.

 

Chloe watches him, he doesn’t have to. She watches him, something was off. Usually, when something bothers him, he brings it into work, making everything all about him. He hadn’t mentioned anything so far, and it looked like he wasn’t planning on it. _He was hiding something._

 

He sighs, ‘My apologies again, Ms. Lopez.”

 

Ella relaxes her shoulders. She shakes her head in awe.

 

“ _God_ , Chloe really is good for you, huh,” she says, a sweetness in her voice.

 

Chloe removes her hand and smiles. Lucifer looks at Ella, shocked that she would use that name in front of him, especially after -

 

He pauses, and his eyes drop. A realization falls over him, and he looks back up at Ella.

 

“Ms. Lopez,” he says apologetically, “It just occurred to me that I have yet to uphold my end of the bargain.”

 

She raises her eyebrows, confused.

 

‘What?” she asks.

 

“I promised you after you helped save the Detective, that I would answer your questions and … I have not.”

 

Ella realizes what he is talking about and nods, “Oh!” she says, waving him off, “It’s okay, Maze answered most of them already.”

 

He looks at her oddly, “I see,” he says, his eyes falling.

 

He believes this is the first promise he’s ever broken. _That doesn’t make him feel good at all._

 

“But …” Ella says, her eyes glancing down to the side, “I did have _one_ question.”

 

He turns to her, enthusiasm in his voice, “Anything,” he says, “Ask me _anything_.”

 

She sighs and sets the tablet on the table, “Are you sure? It’s kind of a big one.”

 

He stands up and straightens his jacket, “What else would I be doing?” he asks.

 

“Uh, we _do_ have an open murder investigation,” Chloe says, interjecting.

 

Lucifer waves her off and leans in to hear what Ella has to say. Chloe shakes her head and crosses her arms. She smiles to herself, things were seemingly back to normal. It had been rough there for a second but … maybe this would work out? Maybe she and Lucifer would work out. A small smile comes to her face, and she relaxes her muscles into that comfort.

 

 “Okay well …,” Ella says, leaning on the lab table, “I did have one question. I uhm, I was just curious ..”

 

“Well come on then,” he says impatient, eager to fulfill his end of the contract.

 

Ella thinks, trying to get her words in order. Lucifer watches her.

 

“You want to know the meaning of Life?” he asks chuckling. Humans _always_ wanted to know the meaning of life, as if there was one single answer.

 

She shakes her head no, “Life is …,” she says, trying to find the words.

 

Her head turns to the images on the large monitor in her office. It has clear pictures of a recent murder where a man was stabbed multiple times in the chest. She was used to being faced with so much death, she had no recourse but to develop a greater appreciation for life. Still, that wasn’t a meaning. She doesn’t honestly know if any of this had a meaning, but that didn’t make it _meaningless._

 

She sighs. She turns back to Lucifer, who waits patiently for her question.

 

“I just wanted to know … what is … I mean, who is …,” she pauses to think of her answer.

 

“Where did God come from?” she asks, “Like … religion says he has always been there, but science says the universe was created by the big bang. Which one is right?”

 

She looks at him as his shoulder relax, and he stares blankly ahead. His eyebrows furrow trying to think of the answer. He turns to her as she watches, anticipating a response. He turns to Chloe, who suddenly also wants an answer.

 

He smiles to himself. Humans _were_ fascinating.

 

He lets out a deep sigh and pulls up a chair. Once on it, he adjusts his suit, taking pleasure in the attention he currently demanded and crosses his legs.

 

Then he pauses, getting his words in order.

 

 “My father and I don’t have much of a relationship as you can imagine,” he says, staring at the floor.

 

His eyes move up to Ella.

 

 “So I can only answer this question to the best of my knowledge. Fledglings are notorious for their curiosity and well … Mother was always kind to answer our questions. Well, at least before …” he trails off, his mind going somewhere else temporarily.

 

His eyes turn back to Ella, and he nods.

 

“Right,” he says, knocking that nostalgia away.

 

“The error you are making Ms. Lopez is to suggest that Father and the creation of the universe, through what you humans so obtusely call ‘the big bang,’ are exclusive.”

 

Ella shakes her head, “They don’t seem like they could exist together. I mean, one supposes the world is billions of years old, the other says its six thousand.”

 

Lucifer nods, “Yes, well … time doesn’t work the same in the celestial, and considering how wrong that book got it about me I think it’s safe to say it probably isn’t your best sole source for your religious thesis.”

 

Ella laughs, and Chloe rolls her eyes. Chloe moves and leans against the lab table. She re-crosses her arms and listens. He thinks he likes her attention more than anything. His mind goes back to the question.

 

Lucifer inhales. He hated talking about his father.

 

“He isn’t a mortal like you, or even as an angel like me. He doesn’t have a body to speak of, not really, but his presence is - or can be, palpable. Imagine him as the air you breathe. It’s both perceivable and imperceivable. You don’t really understand it exists until it doesn’t. Until it moves. Until you feel it.”

 

Ella shakes her head, “That does nothing to help me.”

 

He smiles and nods. He pauses to think about how he could aid this conversation. Then it dawns on him. He slides off the chair.

 

“One moment,” he says as he exits the lab.

 

Chloe and Ella look at each other as if to suggest they have no idea where this is going. They wait for a few seconds. Chloe’s eyebrows furrow, and she turns to Ella.

 

“Hey, have you noticed anything … off, about Lucifer?” she asks.

 

Ella smiles, “You mean other than the whole him being in love with you thing?”

 

She grins widely, and Chloe chuckles.

 

“I mean, not saying that’s weird, but it's about time,” Ella says, “ _Please_ tell me you’ve sealed the deal already.”

 

“Ella!” Chloe says, her face becoming three shades redder.

 

“I’m just saying. I need to know. The tension is killing me. It’s like watching the first two minutes of porn but like … _all the time_ ,” she says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Lucifer and I are … we’re taking it slow. You know, feeling things out. After the other night, it’s just … its put things into perspective for me, you know? With Dan not around, I need to focus on Trixie. Keeping her happy and safe should be my priority. Not …”

 

She trails off, trying to put it into words.

 

“Doing the nasty with Lucifer?” Ella says.

 

Chloe smacks her playfully, and Ella laughs. The laughter dies down, and they sit in comfortable silence.

 

Ella purses her lips as if trying to bite her tongue, but she can’t.

 

“You know …,” she says, “Trixie is getting to that age now where maybe … maybe she might benefit from a little more independence?”

 

Chloe looks at her oddly as if to suggest she might be overstepping some boundary.

Ella sees this and preempts her defensiveness.

 

“I’m just saying, even with Dan gone that doesn’t stop her from getting older. Maybe it’s time you loosen the string a little bit, you know? By the time I was her age, I was doing my laundry and making my own breakfast.”

 

“Yeah, well ... you had brothers, Trixie is the only child.”

 

Ella nods,” Even more of a reason to give her some room to spread her wings. You don’t want her ending up spoiled.”

 

Chloe laughs, “Oh, I think it’s too late for that.”

 

Ella chuckles.

They fall into silence again and Chloe thinks.

 

"You know she asked me about sex the other day?" Chloe says.

 

Ella makes a face and exhales, "Oh brother. Time for the talk then huh?"

 

Chloe crosses her arms, confusion behind her eyes.

 

"I just ... I don't know where the time went you know? It feels like yesterday I was changing her diapers and now I have to put a lock on the internet to keep her from finding out about the birds and the bees."

 

"Better you tell her than the internet," Ella says.

 

Chloe nods, "I know ... I just ... I'm not ready for her to grow up."

 

Ella nods, "I know, but ... you kind of don't have a choice."

 

Chloe nods. She knows she doesn't. That doesn't make it any easier.

They fall into silence again.

“I’m just saying," Ella says, "You don’t have to push aside your happiness to focus on hers. You can do both. Otherwise, one day you're going to find out she doesn't need you as much and you're going to be left with someone you don't know anymore; yourself.”

 

Chloe scoffs and shakes her head, “You don’t know what it’s like being a mom, Ella.”

 

She pauses and uncrosses her arms, placing them on Ella, “No offense,” she says, trying to make it clear she isn’t upset.

 

Ella waves her off as if to suggest none taken.

 

“Before I had Trixie, I was a different person,” Chloe says, “Having a child, becoming a mom, it … it changes you. You know? I have responsibilities now. I have more than myself to think about and truth be told I’ve been … selfish in that department for a while ...”

 

“Focusing on your happiness doesn’t make you selfish,” Ella says, grabbing her tablet as if ready to go back to work.

 

Completely having forgotten about Lucifer’s discussion.

 

“There’s no way to have a happy home if you’re miserable all the time,” she continues as if speaking from experience.

 

Chloe’s eyebrows furrow, and she crosses her arms. She was so angry at herself for allowing that fiasco with Pierce but …maybe more so because she ignored Trixie and her feelings. Pierce hadn’t really spent any time with Trixie. What if they actually did get married and it turns out he hated her child? Or Trixie hated him? No, she spent so much time working, or being a mom or trying to dull the pain of chasing Lucifer she hadn’t really even had time to think about that. What made her happy? What did happiness look like to her? Maybe Ella was right.

 

“I haven’t had to think about that,” she says, her voice soft and her eyes somewhere distant.

 

Ella nods, “Well, what about Lucifer? Does he make you happy?” she asks.

 

Chloe snaps out of it and turns to Ella. She shrugs, “Sometimes.”

 

“Other times he makes me …” she says, trailing off.

 

“Horny as fuck?” Ella says.

 

Chloe guffaws and reaches out to playfully slap her again. Ella laughs in response just as Lucifer comes back into the lab holding two cups of coffee. They look at him as if they were caught; as if they had momentarily forgotten he was telling them something.

 

He sets them on the table then stands back. He looks down at the coffee then up to Chloe. He reaches down and slides a cup in her direction.

 

“I thought you might want some coffee,” he says. She smiles sweetly and grabs it off the counter.

Ella eyes Chloe as she takes the coffee, and raises her eyebrows. Chloe catches her glance and playfully nudges her, already knowing what she is thinking.

 

“None for me?” Ella says towards Lucifer, frowning.

 

He smiles,” My apologies, Ms. Lopez, the break room did not have sprinkles or whipped cream.”

 

Ella shrugs. _Fair enough._

 

“Now,” he says, turning to the cup of coffee on the counter, “Where was I? Ah, yes.”

 

He reaches down and takes the top off of the cup of coffee. It is pure black coffee with no cream or sugar.

 

 “Right, so father is … like a bacteria,” he says, turning to Ella.

 

Ella furrows her brows.

 

“I know you don’t like him but, that’s a bit harsh.”

 

Lucifer chuckles, “You’re a lab nerd, what happens when you introduce a bacteria into an otherwise bacteria less environment with no resistance or competing bacteria?” he asks.

 

“It spreads,” she says.

 

He nods. He reaches into his pockets and pulls out a small container of cream.

 

“Imagine, for a second, that the coffee on the table is the universe. Black, empty, devoid of life.”

 

Ella nods and stares at the black cup of coffee on the table.

 

“Now, imagine this is father,” he says as he opens the creamer container and dumps it into the coffee.

 

It drops into the black coffee and swirls around, creating patterns. It swirls, mixing the coffee until an otherwise black brew Is tinted with the cream.

 

Ella shakes her head, “So …?,” she asks, still confused.

 

“Father can see everything in the universe at every point in time, and it isn’t because he possesses some … great power that no one else has. I mean, I suppose he does, but … it is because he is quite literally _the_ universe. He is the bacteria in the petri dish. He is the seed from which every other seed and plant has grown. Every corner of every galaxy is just a part of him as you and I.”

 

He turns to the cup on the table. It has stopped swirling and sits still, as the coffee slowly continues to become tinted by the cream.

"He is inescapable because he is everything and everywhere," he says.

 

He pauses, realizing what he jus said and a sadness starts to brew behind his eyes. _He is inescapable._

 

“So, we all have a little bit of God in us?” Chloe asks.

 

Lucifer turns to her and frowns, “In essence, yes,” he says, “but I beg of you not to bring that up again. It will ruin the dreams I have of you.”

 

Chloe’s neck instantly heats up, and Ella chuckles to herself.

 

“You ..” she begins, getting closer to lower her voice, “You have dreams about me?” she asks.

 

Knowing Lucifer, she already can guess what they are about, but she wants to hear him say it. She wants to know that he imagines it just as much as she imagines it right now.

 

“Yes, Detective,” he says sweetly, watching how she approaches him. If he knew any better, she was enjoying hearing how much he wanted her.

 

“If you’d like, I can give you a synopsis,” he says.

 

The depth in his voice sends a vibration to her loins. She bites her lip. She tried to ice him out today but … she’s thinking about it again, and it isn’t even noon.

 

Ella leans off the table, frustrated. She groans.

 

“Will you two _fuck_ already? Like honestly …”

 

They both turn to her.

 

"Like, not here ... but somewhere else," she corrects herself.

 

Lucifer seems shocked by the outburst while Chloe stifles a laugh. She rubs her neck, hoping it isn’t as red as it feels. Lucifer turns to Chloe then back to Ella.

 

“Ms. Lopez,” he says, “Rest assured I have every intention of intimately pleasing the Detective as soon as she is ready.”

 

Chloe jumps in and waves her hands " _Okay_ ,” she says, needing the topic to be about something else, “enough of this conversation, okay? Let’s just … get back to work. Do we have a murder weapon or not?”

 

Ella shrugs and begins to thumb through her tablet again.

 

“I’m was just drafting up my final report before heading back to the house. The wound pattern indicates something blunt, heavy, and with a square or rectangular edge.”

 

“And we are sure it isn’t the table?” Chloe says.

 

Ella nods, “She would have had to hit the table multiple times for that damage to occur, and it would have given out long before then,” she says.

 

Chloe sighs and nods. Her eyes narrow as she thinks.

 

"You said heavy and rectangular, right?"

 

Ella nods.

 

"Well what about a trophy? Remember they had that big case of trophies?"

 

Ella thinks about it for a moment, and her eyebrows raises in interest.

 

"That might be a good start. I don't recall it looking like one was missing but ...if the killer used the trophy then put it back in place we might be able to get some fingerprints off of it."

 

Chloe nods,“Alright, keep me posted, yeah?”

 

Ella nods.

 

Chloe sips her coffee and heads for the door while Lucifer puts the lid back on the coffee cup. Ella looks up and watches him.

 

“So,” Ella says, trying to clarify, “The universe started because of God?”

 

Lucifer turns to her and sighs.

 

“I apologize if I am not explaining it correctly, Ms. Lopez, it’s … not my favorite topic.”

 

Ellas nods.

He grabs the coffee and leaves. Ella turns back to her tablet.

 

 _So God was the big bang?_ Then ... where did God come from? She shakes her head. That answer left her with more questions.

 

\--

 

Chloe approaches her desk and sets the coffee down. She sits in her chair and pulls out a file from her desk drawer. Lucifer approaches and leans forward to place the coffee cup in his hands carefully into the trash can beneath her desk. His cologne fills her nostrils, and she closes her eyes to take it in. She opens her eyes and rolls them to herself. Why can’t she stop thinking about it? She’s supposed to be angry at him, not want … not want to …

 

_God, she really wants to._

 

Lucifer sits in his chair and comfortably crosses his legs.

 

“So, what’s on the agenda today, Detective?” he asks, “please don’t tell me I woke up this early for no reason.”

 

He grabs the file off her desk that she was reading and she sits back to look at him. Since when did he care about the details of a case? She sits, watching him read for a moment. Everything he did, even the annoying bits like stealing a paper off her desk, only made it worse.

 

She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to focus. She needed to just … _focus_.

 

“Uhm, well … we have a few interviews we need to do,” she says, turning to her computer so she could read the digital version of the files.

 

“We haven’t spoken with the victim’s co-workers yet, and only one person right now has any real motive, Ms. Mathers.

 

“The mistress?” Lucifer says, laughing.

 

Chloe looks at him oddly, as if not understanding why what she said was funny.

 

He pauses and sees the confusion on her face.

 

“Oh, come now Detective, you aren’t falling into that trap are you?”

 

“The Mistress had the most to gain from the wife being suddenly out of the picture,” she says.

 

“If Mr. Johnson told her he would leave his wife, then found out his wife was pregnant," she continues, "she might have thought he wouldn’t have left his wife anymore. It’s not a giant leap to suggest she may have taken extreme measures to keep him around.”

 

Lucifer tilts his head, “Your notes say she didn’t know about the pregnancy and she has an alibi for the time and date of the murder,” he says.

 

Chloe pauses. Lucifer was right, she did have an alibi.

 

She shakes her head, “Mr. Johnson didn’t tell her about the pregnancy, but that doesn’t mean she didn’t find out some other way. You know women can be resourceful.”

 

He nods and sighs, looking down at the papers in his hand again.

 

“I don’t much care for spawn, Detective,” he says, “You know that but … that is a truly disheartening theory.”

 

Chloe shakes her head.

 

“Don’t say that,” she says.

 

He turns to her, “Say what?”

 

“That you don’t like kids. You know I have a kid, right?”

 

Lucifer smiles, “Detective, your spaw-“

 

She gives him a look as if suggesting he not finish that thought. He censors himself and starts again

 

“… Trixie is perfectly acceptable for a small human. Dare I say I’ve come to feel quite _attached_ to little Cretan. She’s easy enough to bribe at least.”

 

Chloe smiles. She turns back to the paper. She would ask him if he meant that but … she already knows he wouldn’t lie to her.

 

“Right,” he says, filling in the silence with something else, “So you believe it to be the mistress, then?”

 

Chloe nods, “She’s the only one with any real motive. The husband usually becomes suspect number one but, he seemed absolutely heartbroken at the crime scene.”

 

“Well we already know he’s a liar, Detective,” he says.

 

Chloe looks at him oddly.

 

She shakes her head, “What do you mean?”

 

Lucifer pushes the paper in front of her, it’s the notes from Mr. Johnson’s confession.

 

“He said he had been with Mr. Braun all evening. Yet both Mr. Braun and Ms. Mathers said he spent an hour and a half with her.”

 

Chloe’s eyes widen. She had been so distracted by her and Lucifer she hadn’t even caught that simple lie. She puts her hand to her head. If the Lieutenant knew, she would put Chloe back on desk duty.

 

_She needed to focus._

 

“What I don’t understand is why lie about having a mistress after the death of your wife?” Lucifer continues, “Seems like a lot of energy spent for nothing. I mean, she’s already dead, no need to run around hiding your actions.”

 

Chloe narrows her eyes at his insensitivity, but they quickly turn into thinking as the gears spin behind her eyes. She thinks back to what he said in the driveway, about people forming their own opinions.

 

Emily did have an alibi, but her alibi was the husband.

 

“You would think it would be because he was embarrassed about cheating,” she says, “but then he must have known it would have come out when talking to his coworker to confirm his alibi.”

 

She turns back to her computer screen and eyes the report on the screen.

 

“Unless it wasn’t because he was protecting his secret … maybe he was protecting the killer.”

 

Lucifer sits back in his chair, “So you’re sticking with the mistress in the living room with the candlestick?” he asks, his words challenging.

 

She narrows his eyes at him, “What I think is we need to find out what she knew, and when she knew it. If we can prove she knew about the pregnancy before her interview, we might get evidence that will lead to a confession.”

 

Lucifer smiles, and Chloe looks at him oddly.

 

“You think I’m wrong?” she asks, slightly offended.

 

He shakes his head, “Your instincts have never failed you yet, Detective.”

 

“So what? Why does it feel like you’re questioning me?” she asks.

 

“I just wonder if maybe you want the mistress to be the murderer so badly because … well because you want to punish her for being a mistress.”

 

She chuckles to herself and sits back. _Unbelievable._

 

“Really? Lucifer?”

 

He smiles to himself.

 

“I quite like jealousy on you, Detective,” he says.

 

She shakes her head and stands, “Are you suggesting I am jealous of Emily?” she asks.

 

“Why on earth would I be jealous of her?”

 

Lucifer laughs, “No, I am suggesting you are jealous of the woman from my penthouse and seeing as how you can’t punish her – partly because I can’t remember her name – you are seeking someone to punish for your vendetta against ‘the other woman.’”

 

She looks at him, a shocked look on her face.

 

“Lucifer, I appreciate your armchair doctor theory, but I know how to do my job.”

 

He nods, “I’m just suggesting we perhaps talk to the liar first.”

 

She sits back in her hair and crosses her arms.

 

“You think it’s the husband,” she says.

 

He nods, “He’s a liar, Detective. Isn’t there some law about lying to the police?”

 

She nods, “There is.”

 

“Excellent. So we punish him for breaking the law, get a confession out of him, and that’s it. Another case solved.”

 

She sits back in her chair, her arms crossed. She forgot what it was like to work with him. However annoying and stubborn he was ... she missed this.

 

He watches her watch him, the wheels spinning behind her head.

 

“Then, perhaps we can finally discuss our brief moment of intimacy?” he says.

 

She sits up and looks around, making sure no one is around. She turns to him.

 

“Detective?” he asks.

 

She looks at him and her eyes narrow. She smiles and leans back in her chair, a playful aura around her.

 

“What do you say we make a bet?”

 

Lucifer looks at her, an intrigue behind his eyes. He loved a good wager.

 

“What do you propose?’ he asks, the words charming as he leans in closer to her.

 

She smiles, “I don’t know. You’re the betting guy, you tell me.”

 

He sits back in his chair and hums. _He likes this._

 

“Okay, Detective. If the mistress doesn’t turn out to be the killer, then you have to go out to dinner with me,” he says.

 

She fights back a smile and nods.

 

“Okay, and when she turns out to be the killer, what do I win?” she says.

 

He thinks for a moment, “Well, what do you desire?” he asks.

 

Her heart beats through her chest, and her palms begin to sweat.

 

 _You_ , she thinks, _I want you._

 

She sits up, adjusting herself in her suddenly _uncomfortable_ chair.

 

“Uh, I don’t know …” she says.

 

She turns her eyes away from him, needing to get that thought of him out of her mind. She couldn’t just go from angry back to wanting him so quickly. He wouldn’t learn anything that way. Lucifer was an experience guy. For him to understand something, he needed to experience it. He needed to learn that she cared about who he chose to spend his time with, alone ... in his penthouse. She turns her eyes to a photo of her and Trixie on her desk. She tilts her head, and her eyebrows raise.

 

Suddenly it dawns on her, and a shit-eating grin comes across her face.

 

“Fine,” she says, “If you win we go out to dinner, but if I win … you have to take Trixie for a full day.”

 

Lucifer looks at her as if offended. She laughs to herself. Lucifer would absolutely hate that, but if she wanted to see if they could truly work this out, she needed to know he could love Trixie as much as she did. She needed to know Trixie would be okay.

 

He exhales into his seat and fixes his jacket, “Very well,” he says, knowing he will win.

 

“I will take the spa-“

 

Chloe tosses him a look before he can even finish that word.

 

“Trixie,” he says, correcting himself again, “on the most hell-raising day of her young life.”

 

Chloe nods.

 

“Great,” she says, turning back to her files, already planning a spa day for herself.

 

“So, where do we begin, hmm?” he asks, leaning in and thumbing through the loose sheets on her desk. She grabs his hand and moves it off her desk.

 

“We need to go to the victim's place of employment. Hopefully, we can find out who else she told about her pregnancy and if it had any way of getting back to Emily.”

 

Lucifer nods, “And what of the husband? He lied to us, Detective.”

 

She nods and stands, closing the folder on her desk.

 

“Oh, _I know,_ ” she says sudden anger in her voice, that makes Lucifer take pause.

 

“He’s our first stop.”

 

"If I didn't know any better, Detective, It sounds like you want to punish him."

 

She shoots him a look, as if she weren't entertaining that comment before tucking the folder beneath her arms and grabbing her cup of coffee off the desk. Lucifer stands and watches as she walks away. If his body weren't suddenly on strike, he imagines he’d have the beginnings of an erection right now. Punishing with the Detective?

_Oh my._

Lucifer stands and follows her up the stairs and out the station.

 

\--

 

Inside a dingy alleyway filled with trash and sleeping homeless men, a gentleman stands near a deep red brick wall. He leans against it, smoking a cigarette and seems to be exceptionally bored. He takes a long drag of his cigarette then exhales. He flicks the cigarette ash onto the floor and watches as it falls. It fills him with a sense of nostalgia, a longing for home.

 

The crossroads demon brings the cigarette to his lips to take another long drag when a man with a hood draped over his head enters the alleyway. The demon looks at him, gauging him for a moment before recognition hits his eyes and he smiles. He exhales the smoke and watches the ash drop again.

 

He pushes himself off the brick wall as the hooded man approaches him.

 

“What are you looking for there chief?” he asks, already knowing the deal.

 

The man approaches looks around for a moment and pulls his hood off, revealing it to be Dan. His eyes are deep pits of shadow and his skin pale. He looks like he hasn’t eaten in days.

 

It catches the demon by surprise. He narrows his eyes and pulls the cigarette to his lips again.

 

“You look like shit,” he says, not mincing words.

 

Dan nods his head, “Yeah, I feel like it to.”

 

They exchanged glances for a second.

 

“I heard you could get me anything I wanted,” Dan says.

 

The demon looks at him and turns his eyes to the opening of the alley, very disinterested. This guy looked like he couldn’t offer anything of value.

 

“What do you need?” he asks anyway.

 

“A gun,” Dan says.

 

The man looks at him as he takes a drag on his cigarette, his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what is going on here. Suddenly, it dawns on him. Suddenly, he is interested.

 

“That’s a messy way to go,” he says, “Sure you don’t want poison? Maybe an arranged accident?”

 

Dan thinks about it for a moment, “Could I get the accident today?”

 

The man exhales the smoke and shakes his head, “Come on. Part of an arranged accident is the arrangement. It will take a few days.”

 

Daniel shakes his head, “Not good enough. I need it today. Just give me the gun, alright?”

 

Dan reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stack of cash. He hands it out to the man.

 

The demon looks down at him, then back at Dan.

 

"Why don't you just go buy one?"

 

"Looking like this? I already tried it. It would take days to get cleared and I've already told you ... I need it today," Dan says.

 

The crossroad demons takes a deep drag. The spirit in this one is strong. He likes it.

 

“How do you know that’s enough?” he asks.

 

“It’s all I have,” Dan says.

 

The demon looks at him, his eyes still narrowed and takes a deep, long drag. He blows the smoke in Dan’s face. Dan coughs and waves it away with his money.

 

“Keep it,” the man says.

 

Dan looks at him, a look of desperation in his eyes.

 

“No, please,” he says, trying to force the man to take his money.

 

The man waves him off.

 

“Calm down, buddy. I’ll give you the gun, but I don’t want your money.”

 

Dan looks at him oddly.

 

“Then what do you want?” he asks.

 

The man smiles a wicked smile.

 

“That’s the million-dollar question right there,” he says, “what do any of us want?”

 

Dan shakes his head, he doesn’t know where this is going. He didn’t have the energy for riddles.

 

The demon laughs and turns to pull a loose brick from out of the wall. He reaches into it and pulls out an old colt pistol before replacing the brick and turning back to Dan. Dan eyes it with awe. It is absolutely old and possibly made at the turn of the century. It has strange but beautiful engravings on its side.

 

He hands it to Dan, who accepts it slowly. Once the metal hits his palm, it feels as though it vibrates the core of his being. He flips out the barrel of the gun to find three black and silver bullets in the chamber. They aren’t regular bullets, they too have strange carvings on them. Dan looks up at the man, who takes another drag of his cigarette, still watching him.

 

“What are these markings?” he asks.

 

The demon shrugs, “Do you want the gun or not?” he asks.

 

“Well, can I at least get more bullets?” he asks.

 

The demon laughs, “Trust me, you only need one.”

 

Dan looks down at the gun then back to the man who smiles as he brings the cigarette to his lips again.

 

“I ... what do you want for it?” he asks again.

 

The man takes another long drag, his eyes never leaving Dan.

 

“Consider it a gift,” he says.

 

Dan shakes his head, “I have money. I can get you something else if that’s not good enough.”

 

Dan briefly thinks of Lucifer.

 

“I can tell you where you can find a bunch of nice cars and clothes and-“

 

The demon interrupts him

 

“I just want the gun back,” he says.

 

Dan looks at him oddly.

 

“I … I don’t know how I’m going to give it back to you? The whole point of- “

 

“Don’t worry,” the demon says interrupting,” It will find me.”

 

Dan looks him up and down. The man smiles and holds his hands out.

 

“Do we have a deal?”

 

Dan looks at him, then down at the gun. If this was the only way to end this, then … what was the worst that could happen?

 

He shakes the man’s hand, and the man smiles.

 

He turns and goes back to leaning against his wall.

 

“I’ll be seeing you,” he says.

 

Dan shakes his head, “Hopefully not,” he says as he turns to leave.

 

The man takes a drag of his cigarette and watches as Dan leaves.

 

As soon as Dan turns the corner, a string of fire begins crawling along the edge of the brick next to the demon. He doesn’t seem phased. Instead, he still looks bored.

The string of fire cuts the shape of a door and when it completes its path the brick inside the line caves into a red fire.

 

Out steps a tall man with biting green eyes and a briefcase. He looks young and wears the uniform of a young man; tight blue jeans, converse shoes and a hooded sweater beneath a blue blazer. As soon as he clears the doorway, the brick wall reappears and the door seals behind him.

 

He turns to the crossroads demon. The crossroads demon turns his eyes – still very disinterested – towards the man.

 

The man nods towards him, “Jeremy,” he says.

 

Jeremy nods, in return, “Silas.”

 

Silas nods and turns to walk down the alleyway.

 

“Still making board room deals?” Jeremy asks, flicking the ash from his cigarette into a growing pile on the floor.

 

“You know it,” Silas responds, still walking down the alley.

 

 “Still claiming souls?” he says, turning briefly while walking backwards.

 

“Every day,” Jeremy responds, taking another drag of his cigarette.

 

“Sick,” Silas says enthusiastically as he turns and continues walking down the alley.

 

At the end of the alley, he turns and disappears.

Jeremy takes another drag of his cigarette, a pleased smile on his face.

 


	10. Liar, Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amenadiel visits Linda in her office. Maze gets closer to Finding Daniel and makes an important discovery, Ella finds a break in the case at the Johnson's Home, and Lucifer saves Chloe's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay in this chapter. Work has been kicking my ass for the past two weeks, and I haven't had as much time to write.

Inside Linda’s office, Linda sits opposite a blonde woman with a spikey haircut. The woman sits back in the sofa, her body in an aggressive pose. She chews on a piece of gum that has long since lost its flavor.

  
“I ordered it without cranberries,” the woman says.

  
“Hmm,” Linda hums as she sits back in her chair. She turns her eyes to the window then back to the woman sitting in front of her.

  
“I mean, how hard is it to put together a salad?!” the woman continues.

  
Linda taps her pen against her cheek, narrows her eyes and nods. Her watch beeps, and she looks down at it in relief. She sits forward.

  
“Okay, well that’s all the time we have for today. For next week’s session, perhaps we can explore more productive ways of managing our anger?”

  
The woman sighs and nods.

  
“Fine, but I’m only here because of court mandate,” she says as she stands.

  
"Of Course," Linda responds, holding tightly to her sanity.

  
Linda leads her out the door, and the woman grunts as she leaves.

  
“Alright, see you next week, Melissa,” she says.

  
Linda shuts the door behind the woman and waits until she hears the outside door of her office close. When it does, she turns and punches the air.

  
“Bitch!” she says as she groans in frustration.

 

This day couldn’t end any quicker, she needed a stiff drink.

  
She walks to her desk and is halfway there when she hears a knock on the door. She turns to it and furrows her eyebrows. Her next appointment wasn’t for another thirty minutes. She sighs, ready to get drunk tonight and decompress.

  
She approaches the door and straightens up before pausing and opening the door.

  
“What can I-“ she says as she swings the door open coming face to face with Amenadiel.

  
“… do for you..,” she says, her eyes tracing his body. The shock in her face is apparent.

  
“Amenadiel,” she says shocked, “I … uh … what are you doing here?”

  
She backs away from the door as he walks in. He looks around as if venturing into old stomping grounds.

“I just … came to say hello,” he says, turning his glance to her, “and to see how you are doing.”

  
“Oh,” she says, walking to her desk, moving to stand behind it as if it could protect her, “I’m … I’m good.”

  
He looks at her and nods.

  
“You?” she asks, her eyes dropping; pretending she doesn’t care about the answer.

  
His smile turns into a frown. He furrows his eyes.

  
“I’m trying to be good,” he says, turning his glance back to her, “but it’s hard.”

  
She nods, feeling the same sentiment herself.

  
“Yeah.”

  
They stand in silence for a moment.

  
“I’d, I’d offer you a seat, but you know …,” she says.

  
He smiles and nods. He stares at her. He wanted so much to hold her and smell the scent of her hair again. But how would he know if she still felt the way he did? Or was he chasing a memory?

  
“I miss you,” he says, his eyebrows furrow to show he means what he says.

  
She inhales as if those words hurt. She closes her eyes and shakes her head.

  
“That’s unfair,” she says, “you can’t come here and tell me that.”

  
He is silent. He just stares at her with that look. The look that lays the burden of his disclosure on her shoulders.

  
Her shoulders relax under its weight, and she sighs.

  
“I … I miss you too,” she says,” but … what can we do?” She shrugs.

  
“We could talk to Maze,” he says.

  
Linda scoffs and shakes her head, “No, no. I don’t want to bring up old wounds.”

  
Amenadiel shakes his head and approaches her desk. He leans on it, getting himself as close to her as he can without the risk of kissing her.

  
“Isn’t your happiness just as important as hers?” he asks.

  
They stand there, neither of them knows what to say. He nods and stands, turning the face the rest of his office. They had made love here several times.

  
“Was that you?” she asks, “last night … in my backyard?”

  
He nods turns halfway to her and smiles.

  
“I find your choice of literature odd, but … I suppose I could get used to it.”

  
She laughs.

“It’s juvenile, I know but … it helps me decompress,” she says shrugging.

  
He hums and nods. They look at one another, a thick silence between them.

  
He sighs, “Well … I’ll let you get back to your work,” he says. He turns to leave.

  
“Amenadiel, wait,” Linda says, approaching him quickly.

He turns just as she gets into his personal space. She pauses, a single hand resting on his chest. She holds it there, feeling his heartbeat. She brings her gaze up to his, and he looks down on her lovingly.

  
He brings his hand up and wraps it around hers before bringing it up to his lips and kissing her hand softly.  
He smiles before he turns to leave.

  
She follows him and watches him walk away. Slowly she closes the door behind him and leans against it. She closes her eyes, her heart tightened in her chest. She shakes her head. He wasn’t making this easy.

  
Now she really needed a drink. She brings her wrist up to look at the time only to find it was still hours away. She groans and pulls herself off the door.

  
\--

  
Chloe and Lucifer drive in silence in her car. Lucifer thumbs through notes from Chloe’s interviews, looking for any more clues that might lead to arresting the husband. He shakes his left leg while flipping through the documents. Chloe’s eyes move to his leg, then back to the road as she drives. She shifts herself in her seat, getting more comfortable.

  
Her eyes move back to his leg, then up to him and then back to the road again.

  
“Is everything alright? You seem … _off_ today,” she says.

  
He looks up from the paper, and she turns to him. Her eyes move to his leg then back to the road. Lucifer looks down at his leg and realizes he’s been shaking it this whole time.

  
He stops and adjusts himself in the seat.

  
“Would you prefer I be _on_?” he asks, a sly smile peeling into the corner of his lips.

 

She turns her eyes to him, then turns them back to the road in annoyance. She seems annoyed at him, but Lucifer knows better, or at least he thinks he does.

 

Last night was definitely a first for him, and despite her demeanor, there were moments when he caught her looking at him in a way he didn’t like. As if she were questioning him or his motives. She should know by now, he thinks.

  
He turns to her and watches her for a second.

  
He turns back to the paper in front of him and closes the file.

  
“Detective,” he says, “Now that we are alone, I was hoping maybe … we could discuss last night,” he says.

  
She turns her eyes to him briefly, then turns it back to the road. Didn’t he already say enough?

  
“Uh, yeah. What did you want to talk about?” she says, her voice soft and uncertain.

  
“I just wanted to make sure things between you, and I were okay,” he says.

  
She smiles, “You mean now that you aren’t crying outside my door?”

  
Lucifer looks at her as if deeply offended. His offense falls when he sees her smile.

 

“I did no such thing,” he says, the anger that was building in his voice subsiding to a light offense.

  
She turns to him, and her smile fades. He really was sensitive today. She turns back to the road.

 

She sits up in her chair and grips the steering wheel tightly as she drives. She hadn’t expected him to want to talk about this. She had expected him to brush it under the rug like every other thing or make it about him. This was certainly odd.

 

“Uhm … yeah,” she says, “yeah … we are fine.”

 

“Really?” he asks, “I expected you to still be upset with me. I mean, you have every right to be angry but-“

 

“Lucifer,” she says, “I meant what I said. I had my time to be angry and hurt, and … truthfully It will take a while to be back to not feeling doubtful but …”

 

She looks at him, he observes her.

 

She turns her eyes back to the road, “I’m not angry at you, not anymore. Truth be told, I’m disappointed. “

 

He furrows his eyebrows, “Disappointed?”

 

“Yes,” she says exasperated, “You keep putting yourself in situations that are the exact opposite of the person I know you want to be. Or at least I hope you want to be.”

 

The car falls into silence again.

 

She sighs, “I shouldn't punish you for violating rules we never established. I keep forgetting this ... us. It's new to you. But I just wish sometimes I didn’t have to tell you what not to do. I wish you just … knew.”

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to the road.

 

“I’m not my father, Detective,” he says with anger just behind his voice, “I don’t just know things.”

 

The car dips into an oppressive silence. She stares forward, unsure what to do with those words or the feelings behind them.

 

He turns to her as she stares forward, her eyes pasted to the road in front of her. It is awkward and tense.

 

He sighs and sits back in his seat, “My apologies Detective … I … that was uncalled for.”

 

She shakes her head, “No, you’re right. I … you can’t read my mind. I shouldn’t expect you to.”

 

Not when this is his first time, she thinks. She pauses. His first time. Was she really his first love?

 

Lucifer turns his eyes out the window. He didn’t know what to do with this. Usually, in arguments with others, he was disinterested. He had no use for them or their feelings.

 

He could stand there and watch them yell and scream at him without the slightest response. He could watch them exhaust themselves and later guffaw at the absurdity of their display of human emotion. And when they would eventually walk away – never to be seen again - that was fine; that was the nature of being immortal.

  
He turns his gaze to her, watching her with a revere in his eyes that is hard to quantify.

 

He could never do that to Chloe; discount her feelings so easily.

 

“Listen,” she says, “If this thing is going to work. If we’re actually going to try … you need to promise me you will be open from now on about what you are feeling, Okay? Even if you think it will hurt me. I will always listen to you, no matter what. Okay?”

 

She turns to him and catches his glance as he nods. She turns her eyes back to the road.

 

“No more … disappearing or hiding or … or being cryptic about what is going on. No more running off with strangers and _definitely_ no more kissing other women.”

 

“To be fair Detective, she kissed me,” he says.

 

She turns her glance to him, a look behind her eyes tells him he shouldn’t push things.

 

“Okay,” he says quickly, “okay.”

 

She nods, and the car dips into silence.

  
“That includes sex, just to clarify. I want you to want me and only me, and maybe that’s stupid to ask of the Devil but –“

 

“It’s not,” he interrupts. She turns to him briefly, and their eyes meet. There is a strength behind his words as if he needed to set the record straight.

 

“It’s not, Detective,” he says.

 

She turns back to the road, and the car dips into silence again.

 

“Okay,” she says, her shoulders relaxing.

 

A smile comes across her face, and she leans back in her seat.

 

“The good thing is if I find you with another woman again, I can shoot you and not feel bad about it.”

 

Lucifer laughs, “I don’t imagine us coming across that particular crossroad anymore, Detective.”

 

He doesn't want to, he lacks the desire to be with anyone but her. And even if he wanted to, he couldn't. His body was being less than cooperative with him lately.

 

His eyebrows furrow thinking about the previous night, when he got home and attempted to self-soothe.

 

He had a whole history of masturbatory imagery, but none of it worked. It was more than his mojo gone, he thinks, his entire libido had taken a back seat to ... feelings.

 

Just thinking that made him uncomfortable. What was he if not the ultimate desire for every woman he ever met? Well, besides the Detective, of course.

 

He turns his eyes to Chloe and watches her as she drives in silence.  
His eyebrows fall, and he tilts his head.

 

Still, he thinks, it wasn't the worst he's ever felt.

 

Lucifer turns his glance out the window and watches as the city flies by. A small smile comes to his face.

 

This was really happening; he and the Detective. A thought occurs to him, and he turns back to Chloe.

 

“Detective,” he says inquisitively, “If we are being open about our thoughts now, does that mean we can talk about the incident?”

 

She turns to him, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

“The incident?” she asks, turning her eyes back to the road.

 

“Yes, our brief moment of physical contact.”

 

She grips her knuckles tighter on the steering wheel, and she sits back up, suddenly tense again. Her eyes dart back and forth over the road, trying to think of how she could get out of this conversation.

 

“You know, since we are being open,” he follows up, seeing her hesitancy.

 

She nods and clears her throat, “Right … okay … so … what about it?”

 

He pauses for a moment. That actually worked? He hadn’t thought he would have gotten this far, he thought she would shrug it off again, and he’d follow with some sexually charged quip.

 

He turns his eyes to the floor, trying to pull out any of the many questions he had asked himself about that morning.

 

Did she hate him for what he did? Did she feel violated? Would it ever happen again? Did she want it to happen again?

 

He turns to her, his mouth agape as the wheels spin in his head.

 

She turns to him briefly as he comes up with what he wants to say. She smiles and laughs.

 

“Well?” she asks.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says.

 

She shrugs, “We don’t have to talk about it,” she says, “You’re the one who brought it –“

 

“No,” he interrupts, “I mean I’m sorry for what I did to you.”

 

She knits her brows and turns to him. His eyes meet hers, and he sees the confusion behind them.

 

“I violated you,” he says, his words dripping with shame, “You were not you and …”

 

Chloe’s eyes fade from confusion, to shock and then horror.

 

“No, Oh God no, Lucifer,” she says, realizing what he is insinuating, “Is that what you think happened?”

 

“I should have controlled myself,” he continues, “I should have –“

 

She puts her foot on the brake, stopping the car in the middle of traffic. She turns to him and plants a hand on his arm.

 

“ **Stop** ,” she says, not wanting him to continue that line of thought, “That is not what happened. Do you really think I’d be talking to you right now if I felt that way?”

 

Cars honk their horns behind them. Chloe ignores them.

 

“You weren’t ready, Detective,” he says.

 

“ _We_ weren’t ready,” she says.

 

They stare at one another. Lucifer’s eyes fall down to the papers in his lap.

 

Chloe sits back in her seat and sighs. She shakes her head. The cars behind her continue to honk, and she turns her eyes to the rearview mirror. She takes her foot off the brake and pulls over to the side, letting the cars pass.

 

She puts the car in park and turns her back to the driver’s side door, staring directly at Lucifer. Her eyes are still wide as if she can’t believe what he is saying. She watches him, trying to figure out how to process this.

 

Is that why he thought she was hiding from him? Or why he thought they weren’t on speaking terms? Did he honestly believe that she was pretending it didn’t happen because …

 

She can’t even finish that thought.

 

He looks at her, afraid to catch her eyes. He does, anyway.

 

“Is that why you stopped?” she asks, “You thought you were doing something wrong?”

 

He nods.

 

“It didn’t feel right,” he says. He pauses and corrects himself.

 

“I mean, it felt amazing. Your body is -“

 

“Okay,” Chloe says, holding her hand up, indicating he should not finish that sentence.

 

“but it wasn’t you,” he continues.

 

“How do you know that?” she says, “I wanted you as much as you wanted me.”

 

He turns his torso to her, leaning his shoulder up against the passenger door.

 

“Detective, I have been trying to get you to plead my name since the day we met, and each time you have declined my advances. You wouldn’t have given in so easily,” he says.

 

He turns his eyes to the road in front of him, “I should have told you no like I did the night you came drunk to my penthouse, but instead I … I used you.”

 

He doesn’t like the way saying that out loud feels.

 

She sighs, “We used each other,” she says. He turns to her.

 

“You don’t know what it was like," she says," I had been to heaven. I had spoken to God, and then suddenly, I’m back, and the world seems … big and small at the same time. There are so many people. So many lives that could just be … snuffed out in an instant, and the world would continue to move on, and very few would care. I mean, you get that feeling, working in homicide, but it’s always something you can hideaway.”

 

Her eyes glaze over as she thinks about that feeling, those moments after coming back.

 

“That feeling … I couldn’t hide it. It was everywhere. I was naked, but I wore it like a dress. I never felt so … I never felt so … alone.”

 

She and turns her attention to the road.

 

Lucifer’s eyes drift down to his feet, something in her words echoes through his soul.

 

“I wanted to feel something other than insignificant …tiny,” she says, turning her eyes back to him “ So, I used you to make me feel like I mattered.”

 

“You do matter, Detective,” he says as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

 

“Either way, It was wrong of me to use you like that. I just … I needed something to make me feel like … me, and unfortunately, that was you. So, I’m the one that should be sorry. You did _nothing_ wrong.”

 

He nods, “I suppose we both used each other, “he says, “I wonder what Dr. Martin would have to say about that.”

 

Chloe pauses, and a smile comes over her face. She shakes her head to herself. Lucifer looks at her.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

She chuckles to herself and raises a hand to her mouth, trying to wipe the smile off her face.

 

“Detective?” Lucifer says, starting to get oddly annoyed by her laughter as if she were laughing at him.

 

“We 100% had drunk sex,” she says.

 

Lucifer looks at her oddly.

 

“Well … celestial drunk sex,” she says to herself, “like, instead of booze it was …”

 

She pauses, and her eyes widen momentarily as to give emphasis to her words, “ _acid_.”

 

He looks at her and smiles, “Detective, I never took you for a psychedelics girl. Marijuana sure. I bet you have some wild stories from your younger days. Ecstacy ..maybe if someone slipped it to you on accident but acid?” He laughs to himself.

 

She rolls her eyes and smiles. The car falls into a comfortable silence. Her eyes roll up to him, then down to her hands.

 

“What about you?” she asks, “Since we’re being open … why did you do it? I mean other than the obvious wanting to have sex with me.”

 

He turns to her and smiles, but his smile fades as he thinks of the answer. He could never lie to her, and she wanted honesty. She had made him promise to not run or hide from his answers. He shakes his head to himself.

 

“I should have controlled myself,” he says, “but … I never felt so … angry, or confused, or desperate … or sad as I did the night you almost died. These aren’t feelings I normally feel and quite frankly the fact that I even recognized them is …”

 

“Progress?” Chloe says with a smile.

 

He turns to her, a displeased look on his face that makes her chuckle.

  
He smiles as she laughs. He liked to see her happy. His smile fades as he thinks about how he could continue his answer.

 

“Death is something I am intimately familiar with Detective, as you can imagine. Every woman I’ve ever been intimate with and every human I’ve ever considered a friend has died. Everyone I know now, here on earth will die, and even more of these people have yet to even be born. For me, it is an endless cycle of birth and death for which I am the only audience member. I may not be, but ... I _feel_ like the only audience member."

 

He turns to her as she watches him intently, never having heard him speak like this.

 

"I can remember every moment of every century of my long life. How my first lover took my virginity in the tall grass near a river and days later, she fell in while washing her linens. I suppose knowing how to swim wasn't as important back then," he says chuckling, attempting to lighten the mood.

 

Chloe gives him a smile that almost looks like pity. It doesn't make him feel good. He ignores it and turns his eyes to the window, away from her.

 

"She drowned," he says matter of factly, "My second lover died of heatstroke. She spent all day tilling the soil and collapsed under the Egyptian sun. The third well … that was partly my fault because she was already married and we all know how they treated adultery back then.”

 

He turns to Chloe with a small smile on his face, “Not like now. You just … let them do it.”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes, and he inhales, settling himself in his seat. He turns back to the road ahead.

 

“And so on and so forth until eventually, you lose count. Eventually, you learn to just ... stop feeling; to stop caring. It’s easier when every mortal becomes a stranger."

 

He turns back to Chloe; her eyes bare the weight of his self-disclosure. He's never told anyone that. His eyes fall to his lap, the words spilling out of him as if he's waited forever to tell the story.

 

"Thankfully, Amenadiel usually found me pretty quickly and escorted me back to hell, so I didn’t have to actually witness many of them die, but … it never made things easier.”

 

Chloe watches him, a passive look on her face. She never thought to ask him about his long life; what he experienced. She had assumed he had everything he wanted; money, a small bit of fame and an endless parade of women.

 

She knew it was unhealthy, she knew he was covering up a sadness but ... she didn't know the depth of it. She never thought to think what it must be like; living all this time.

 

His eyes start to tear up as he stares into nothing, his mind deep inside a box he had tried to hard to keep closed.

 

"The ones who were lucky enough to live out their lives grew old, a long shot away from their young and vibrant selves No matter how hard you try to block it out, it doesn't hurt any less knowing they lived a good life when they don't even remember your name. it’s …”

 

He pauses, a tear rolling down his cheek.

 

“Unfair.”

 

He closes his eyes to center himself again. He shifts in his seat.

 

“That's why I never get upset when humans question Father’s existence. He's an asshole sure, but he exists..."

 

He turns his eyes back to Chloe.

 

"But I get why they think he doesn't," he finishes.

 

Her eyes swell with water too. She hadn’t thought about what he might have gone through before her … or what he will after her. It seemed lonely.

 

"When you … almost died,” he says, "It was like … every single second of every single emotion I have ever felt came to me all at once,” he says, “Everything I tried so hard to block. I didn’t know what to do. I was useless.”

 

His eyes dart back and forth between hers as if searching for an answer.

 

“You broke me, Detective,” he says.

 

He furrows his eyebrows, a confused rage, and sadness behind that phrase.

 

The car dips into silence, and he turns his eyes down to his hands.

 

“I was afraid … and I still am afraid of what will happen when you do leave me. When you go to the Silver City and I will never see you again,” he says, looking back up at her, “It is inevitable. I can’t do anything to change that. I wish I could change that.”

 

Chloe leans forward and grabs his hands. She intertwines them with hers.

 

“Don’t think like that,” she says, “If you think about things that will happen in the future you won’t be here with me … right now.”

 

She reaches up and wipes the tears from his eyes. Long gone is the idea that she needs to ice him out, or keep him in the dog house. She had started the day in one frame of mind, and here she was, wiping his tears on the side of the road.

 

“When you came back,” he says, looking down at her hands within his, “I was so elated yet fearful. I thought I couldn’t protect you from the simplest of things. I felt so powerless and worthless. I felt so …”

 

He closes his eyes as that feeling bubbles up to the surface again. He breathes through it and pushes it back down. He steadies himself, and when his eyes open, his tears are dried.

 

"So, when you looked at me as if I had the answers ... as if you needed me to have the answers, I wanted to. I wanted to have the answer so badly, and I didn't. I didn't know why I didn't. I was so confused about everything, about what I was feeling about what it meant that I just ...I ..."

 

“You needed to feel something else,” she says.

 

He nods then starts to shake his head.

 

“But I regret that,” he says, “I should have controlled myself. I should have told you no. I should have told myself no.”

 

“I’m glad you didn’t,” she says, a soft smile on her face, “I’d be super pissed if you told me no again.”

 

Lucifer chuckles then Chloe reaches up to wipe his eyes.

 

“Detective,” he says, “I see why you don't want to have sex with me. I promise you my eyes don't leak this much. Usually, the only fluids that leave my body are urine and semen.”

 

Chloe laughs so hard she snorts. He smiles to himself.

 

“But … it feels good,” he says.

 

She lets go of his hand before reaching to put the car into drive.

 

“It’s called emotional release,” Chloe says.

 

“Mm,” Lucifer hums nodding his head, “I think I rather prefer physical releases.”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes and pulls back out into the road, back on route to their destination.

 

One final time, the car falls into silence again. It is comfortable. Lucifer relaxes into his seat and rests his head back, watching as the world outside passes by. His eyes lower momentarily as if thinking before he turns to Chloe.

 

“Detective,” he asks, “Is it still too soon to ask you to dinner?”

 

Chloe turns to him, then turns back to the road. A smile comes over her face.

 

“Mr. Morningstar, You can’t cash in on a bet you’ve yet to win.”

 

Lucifer looks at her, shocked. She turns to him for a moment, sees the look on his face and laughs before turning her eyes back to the road.

 

“I do believe the keyword there is _'yet_ ', Detective,” he says, that devilish smile on his face.

 

\--

 

An uninterested Maze leans up against the main counter in what appears to be a nice hotel. It’s a far cry from the last two hotels she came from.

 

She tilts her head, intrigued by how nice everything looks. Perhaps Dan felt a nice hotel might keep him safe from whomever he was running from. She looks around and notices a few men standing around wearing suits and radios.

 

They certainly had good security.

 

Behind her, a man in a blue suit approaches the counter. He clears his throat.

 

“I’m sorry ma’am, but it’s against our policy to give out the names of our guests,” he says.

 

She turns to him and looks him up and down. She sighs, already annoyed by this interaction.

 

“I’m a bounty hunter with the LAPD. I don’t need a name, I already have a name. Daniel Espinoza. What I need is a room number and the checkout time.”

 

The man nods, “I understand, but it’s still against poli-“

 

Before he can even finish, she grabs him by the shirt, lifts him clear off the ground, drags him across the countertop and _slams_ him on his back in front of her. He lets out a small and high-pitched squeal as he hits the ground.

 

“Listen, I don’t have time for this," she says, "I need a room and a checkout time now. Someone could end up getting hurt if I don’t get to Dan soon. Don’t let that person be you.”

 

Across the lobby, the security guards move in. He looks up at her, anger in his eyes.

 

“I’m going to make sure you spend your life behind bars!”

 

She looks down at him, not at all phased by his words, but it is clear she is annoyed by the interference.

 

She lets go of his shirt, and he scoots himself against the front desk just as the first security guard comes to her. Maze wraps her arm around his neck and effortlessly flips him onto his back, using her body as a pendulum. She lands next to him, kneeling and deals a quick jab to his throat.

 

Another security guard comes up behind her to grab her, and she elbows him in the groin. He leans forward to grab himself, and she flips her closed fist up and punches him in the face.

 

A third security guard comes up with a taser and shoots it at her. It sends electricity coursing through her body, but it doesn’t seem to affect her.

 

She stands up and approaches the guard, who continues to hold down the trigger. She reaches a hand out to grab him by the throat. The connection between the two sends the volts from his taser through her and causes him to tense.

 

He automatically drops the taser to the ground. She then tosses him against a nearby wall. She looks around at the three guards on the ground, then turns to the man against the counter.

 

He looks at her, his eyes full of fear. She stares back at him with a clear intent, enough for him to know she is not joking.

 

Moments later, the door to an empty – and still uncleaned – hotel room opens. The man in the suit stands in the hallway next to Maze. He looks around nervously. Maze enters the hotel room, and her gaze immediately goes to the shattered vase on the floor. She narrows her eyes.

 

“Huh,” she says. She turns behind her to see the man standing in the hallway.

 

“You coming in?” she asks.

 

He shakes his head, “I’ll wait out here if you don’t mind.”

 

She shrugs “Suit yourself.”

 

She lets go of the door, and it closes behind her. She walks further into the now darkened room and looks around. The bed isn’t made, and everything in the room seems untouched still.

 

This is good, she thinks.

 

She smells the air and looks around. There is fear there but … there is something else. She turns her eyes to the closed window curtains and approaches them. She peels back the curtains and floods the room with natural sunlight.

 

She turns back to the room and crosses her arms. She takes everything in; the untidy bed, the empty cups of coffee that line the side table. She drops down, laying her chest flat against the floor and peers beneath the bed. There is nothing. She stands back up and sighs.

 

It was so much easier chasing criminals. They often left stuff behind and people willing to talk. This … chasing someone who paid for everything with a card and still not knowing where he would go next. She sighs.

 

He wasn’t staying in one part of the city and Chloe didn’t want to put an APB out on him; not yet. He could be anywhere by now unless she could figure out why he kept moving about. He wasn’t answering his phone, so maybe a bookie?

 

The sound of a forcefully shut car door catches her attention, and she turns to the window. A cop car is parked outside the front entrance of the hotel, and two officers run in. She rolls her eyes and sighs. She walks to leave and steps over the shattered pieces of the broken vase.

 

As she does so, she pauses. Something catches her eye. She turns to the wall by the television, above where the shattered vase lays. She hadn’t seen it when the room was dark, but now – with sunlight pouring through the windows – it was painfully obvious.

 

There, on the wall, a large bleached white spot on the wallpaper. Like it had been exposed to white paint – or something very, very bright. She thinks for a moment then looks back around the apartment, this new information illuminating something she had missed. There was something else other than fear here … there was something inhuman; something celestial.

 

She turns her eyes back to the wall and shakes her head, goosebumps forming up her arms. She hated dealing with the Silver City, and this had the Silver City written all over it.

 

“Oh, Dan,” she says, a new strange feeling bubbling up in her mouth.

 

It tastes odd. She takes her phone and takes a picture of the wall before shoving the phone in her pocket and opening the door. The man in the suit stands there, still nervous.

 

“You done? You sure you got everything you needed? Maybe look one more time you know … before we clean it, “he says.

 

She looks at him, unpleased.

 

“You’re a dick,” she says as she turns to leave.

 

“Wait!” he says.

 

She stops and turns to him.

 

“Can I get you to take a survey about our customer service?” he asks, looking for anything to make her stay longer.

 

She rolls her eyes and begins to walk away. At the other end of the hallway, the two cops turn a corner and see the man. He backs up all the way to the wall and points to Maze, who walks down the hallway. The officers nod and both reach for their gun.

 

“Freeze!” one says, while the other just points his gun. Maze pauses and slowly turns around. She stands in the center of the hall, her arms crossed.

 

The officers see her and their eyes widen. They look at one another as if deciding what to do. They nod at each other in agreeance.

 

“Sir, please come this way,” one of them says, waving the man in the suit to stand behind him. He complies, a pleased look on his face.

 

“She assaulted me!” he says,” I want her arrested!”

 

The other officer slowly approaches, his gun still drawn.

 

Maze rolls her eyes and let’s go a deep sigh.

 

Once he gets close enough, he nods to her, “Maze.”

 

She looks at him as if very displeased with him. He turns around to his partner and the man in the suit behind him.

 

“Listen,” he says, turning back to her, “we uh … we kind of got to arrest you.”

 

She lowers her arms, her eyes indicating that is not happening and she is ready to fight.

 

“Just temporarily,” he says, attempting to calm her down, “You know … for the show.”

 

He nods his head to the man behind her, and she sighs, rolling her eyes.

 

_“Fine_ ,” she says, “but you have to take me to Lucifer.”

 

He nods.

 

They stare at one another for a few seconds.

 

“You uh … you gotta turn around,” he says.

 

She reluctantly turns around, and he cautiously approaches her and slaps the handcuffs on her loosely.

 

“You know I could get out of these if I wanted to, right?” she says, to confirm he understands she is doing this willingly as a favor.

 

He nods, “Please don’t.”

 

He puts his gun in his holster and walks her calmly back down the hallway to his partner. His partner lowers his weapon.

 

“Whatever information you need,” the man in the suit says, “I am more than happy to give it to you.”

 

The officers look at him and shake their head, “We got it from here chief,” one says.

 

The man in the suit watches them walk down the hallway and into an elevator. He seems rather pleased with himself.

 

Moments later, Maze is put into the backseat of the cop car, her hands still behind her back.

 

The officers get in the front seat, and the driver starts the car. The passenger reaches for the radio.

 

“Dispatch, this is unit 109, over,” he says before waiting for a response.

 

“Unit 109, go ahead,” the radio responds.

 

“Uh yeah, we just finished that 10-10 at the David hotel on 124th, the situation was handled with no need for police intervention.”

 

“That’s a 10-4 Unit 109,” the radio responds.

 

“Can we get a 10-20 on a Detective Decker and Lucifer Morningstar?” he asks.

 

The radio is silent for a second. They look at one another, then to Maze who has managed to slip out of her cuffs.

 

The driver looks at her as if to suggest she could have at least kept them on until they left the parking lot. The passenger laughs, “At least she didn’t break them this time,” he says.

 

“Unit 109, they are 10-76 to 351 Medlock Bridge, Apartment 48.” the radio calls back.

 

“That’s a 10-4,” he responds.

 

“That’s thirty minutes away,” the driver says. The two officers look back at her as if to ask if it's that important.

 

“We have a big problem, guys. A big problem.”

 

They shrug. The driver puts the car into reverse then whips it into drive and pulls out of the parking lot at high speed.

 

“Dispatch, we are code 2, 10-76 to 351 Medlock bridge,” the passenger says into his radio said.

 

“10-4,” it replies.

\--

Chloe and Lucifer walk down the external hallway of an apartment complex. Lucifer looks around, his face twisted in disgust. He doesn’t like this building, it seems seedy. Though to be fair, he thinks, he has been in worst places; namely hell. He sighs and puts his hands into his pockets.

 

Chloe approaches the apartment door and knocks.

 

She takes a step back and turns to Lucifer, who waits patiently with her. She turns her eyes back to the door as the door opens and behind it stands David Braun. He looks at her oddly for a second, then turns to Lucifer.

 

“Uh, Hi…,” he says, surprised to see her.

 

“Good Morning Mr. Braun,” she replies, “Is Mr. Johnson here?”

 

David turns behind him, and Chloe glances past him to see Brandon sitting in front of a large circular table. He turns to her and stands up slowly.

 

“May we come in?” she asks.

 

David nods and steps out of the doorway so they can enter. Chloe steps in first followed by Lucifer. David closes the door behind them. The apartment looks like any standard bachelor pad. There is a kitchen off to the left as they enter directly into the dining area. The kitchen counter curves around into a bar area for additional seating; except there are no stools.

 

Past that, there is a living room and off to the side a small hallway. It presumably leads to the only bedroom and bathroom. On the couch is a pillow and a crumpled up blanket. It is clear someone has been sleeping there.

 

Brandon walks around the large round table in the dining area and comes to stand in front of Chloe. She takes note of his appearance.

  
His eyes droop, and he seems to have a dark cloud over his head. The lining of his eyes are red, and he speaks with a low soft voice. It appears as though he hasn’t showered in days. Her authoritative demeanor slips and softens. This was not the face of a murderer. This was the look of a man deep in the trenches of grief. She turns briefly to Lucifer, who notices the same thing.

 

Her eyes meet his as if to suggest he was losing the bet.

 

“Detective Decker,” Brandon says, his eyes turning to Lucifer, then back to Chloe, “Did you need another statement from me?” he asks.

 

She turns to him and crosses her arms, “I actually came here to arrest you,” she says.

 

“What?” he asks, confused. He steps away from her, bumping into the chair he just got out of.

 

“But I’m not going to,” she continues, “because it’s clear you aren’t who I am looking for.”

 

“I don’t understand,” he says, “what did I do wrong?”

 

“Where do we begin? That outfit, that hair, but if you’d like we can start with you lying to the Detective,” Lucifer says interrupting, his words not as soft or as caring as Chloe’s.

 

Brandon looks up to him, then back to Chloe.

 

“What my partner meant to say,” she says, sending a scolding look towards Lucifer, “is that you lied in your statement. You said you were here, with David, all evening but as it turns out, you left for an hour and a half to visit Emily.”

 

Brandon hears that name and closes his eyes. He inhales sharply and nods.

 

“Yes,” he says, his eyes opening,” I was with Emily.”

 

Chloe nods, “So you want to tell me the full truth about that night? Or do I actually have to arrest a man with taco sauce on his shirt and 72-hour stubble.”

 

He glances down to the dirty sweatshirt he is wearing. There is indeed an odd sauce on his shirt, though he isn’t sure it is taco sauce.

 

He sighs and nods. He turns his eyes to the sofa in the living room and approaches it. He slowly sits down and gets comfortable. He turns his eyes out a nearby window and stares off into the distance as if formulating what to say.

 

Lucifer takes a glance around the apartment. There isn’t much here that is noteworthy, except the table that Brandon was sitting around when they entered.

 

It’s a large, circular and covered with sheets of paper, dice, and figurines. One particular figurine catches his eye, and he approaches the table to get a closer look. The figure is cartoonish demonic; its tongue is long, its eyes are fiery red, and a sharp tail curls from the end of its tailbone.

 

“Huh,” Lucifer says, curiosity in his voice.

 

Behind Lucifer, Brandon turns back to Chloe, who patiently waits for him to start talking. Brandon’s eyes move to Lucifer as he looks closer at a figurine.

 

“I lied because I … uhm …,” Brandon sighs and his shoulders relax. He closes his eyes as if he were reliving a moment he didn’t want to.

 

“I was … ashamed,” he says, turning to Chloe, “My wife and I… obviously we had our issues, but we worked through them, we made compromises for each other. I tried to keep her happy, but …there were things that were hard for us to get past; things we couldn’t compromise about. For a while there, I didn’t think we ever would so … “

 

“You cheated,” Chloe says, not even trying to soften the blow of her distaste.

 

Brandon nods and lowers his head, “I thought that we would eventually get divorced and it wouldn’t matter what I did, so … I did what I wanted to do. I picked up women at bars, I did the online thing …but then I met Emily.”

 

\--

 

The front door of the Johnson’s home opens, and Ella steps in, already donned in white gloves.

 

“Hello?” she asks.

 

An officer steps out from the dining room and greets her.

 

“Ella!” he says, “funny seeing you here.” He looks around for a moment and realizes the awkwardness of what he just said. He looks down at the toolbox she wheels behind her and the camera strapped around her neck.

 

“Or not,” he says.

 

She smiles politely, “Just coming to take one last look around before we release the scene,” she says.

 

He nods and waves her into the living room.

 

“All yours, I’ll be in here if you need me,” he says, going back into the dining room.

 

“Thanks,” she says.

 

She leaves and walks through the formal room, past the trophy case, and into the living room. A dried pile of blood still stains the carpet and the edge of the nearby coffee table. She let's go of the handle of her toolbox, standing next to a chair and approaches the table. She looks at the dried blood on its edge and nods to herself as if solidifying a conclusion in her head.

 

She turns to the entrance where she came from, then turns back to the table and stands up. She walks to the opposite side, checks the door again, then brings her foot up and slams it into the corner of the table with all her weight. It cracks and shatters beneath her feet.

 

She hears footsteps and looks up to see the officer come into the room.

 

“Everything alright?” he asks, a concerned look on his face.

 

She nods, “Yeah, I just … I slipped a little.”

 

He eyes the table then eyes her and nods, a suspicion behind his eye.

 

“Well, just be careful, okay? I’d like to return the house in as-is condition.”

 

She nods, “I’ll be more careful.”

 

He looks at the table, then at her before slowly exiting and going back to the dining room.

 

She turns to the table, the theory they’ve been working with now confirmed. Which meant …

 

She turns and heads back into the formal living area and comes face to face with the trophy case.

 

“If I were a murder weapon,” she says to herself, “where would I be?”

 

She takes a brief look over all of the trophies. They are all clean and spotless, not an ounce of blood to be seen. There are a few water drops near a big one in the center, but they are long dried and not red-tinted at all. It is clear they were cared for regularly.

 

She takes another glance at all the trophies, this time slower. Her eyes fall on the lock that closes the trophy case.

 

She jiggles the handle of the lock to find it is still locked. Her eyes narrow. If someone were to use one of the trophies as a weapon, they would need the key. They would have also known where to find the key.

 

She thinks for a moment and pulls her phone out. She dials a number and waits.

 

“Hey Ella,” a voice says on the other line.

 

“Chloe,” she says, “I’m at the Johnson house looking at the trophies, and the case is locked. There’s no way anyone got into it without the key.”

 

“Okay,” Chloe says on the other line, “So where’s the key?”

 

Ella looks around the room, “I don’t see one anywhere here, but that's not the point. They would have needed the key, which meant they would have needed to know where the key is, which means-”

  
"They would have been there before," Chloe says, filling in the blanks.

  
Ella nods, "That theory about it being someone close to home? It's looking more and more true."

 

"Okay, so where is the key?" Chloe asks.

 

"I don't know, we didn't pick up any keys on the victim's person or nearby. We'd have to ask the husband."

 

“Okay, Hold on, he’s right here. Let me ask him,” she says.

 

Ella listens and waits.

 

“Where’s the key for the trophy case?” Chloe asks someone else. There’s the sound of a voice that Ella can barely pick up. It is low and soft.

 

“Hey, Ella?” Chloe asks.

 

“Yeah,” she responds.

 

“Check the kitchen drawer,” she says.

 

The low and soft voice says something else.

 

“By the fridge,” Chloe follows up.

 

Ella turns and heads into the living room.

 

“Okay, Cool,” Ella says.

 

“Thanks, Ella,” Chloe says.

 

“Chloe, quick question,” she says.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can you ask him how often they cleaned the trophies?”

 

“Uh, sure,” she says.

 

Ella pauses.

 

“How often did you clean the trophies?” she says.

 

A voice responds on the other end. Again, it is low and soft. It seemingly goes on forever before Chloe gets back on the line.

 

“Ella?” she says.

 

“Yeah,” Ella responds.

 

“He says she cleaned it at least once a week with a duster and gloves that should be in the drawer with the key.”

 

Ella pauses and turns back to the trophy case. She eyes the water droplet beneath one of the trophies.

 

“So, she never used water?” Ella says to confirm.

 

“Did she ever use water?” Chloe asks. A low soft voice comes back with a single answer. Ella doesn’t need and interpretation for it.

 

“No,” Chloe says.

 

Ella nods, “Okay thanks Chloe,” she says, her eyes locked permanently on the water droplets.

 

“No problem,” she says before hanging up. Ella hangs up and slips her phone into her pocket. She needed to get that case open.

 

Ella heads into the kitchen and goes straight for the drawer by the fridge. She pulls it open, revealing a bunch of random coins, measuring spoons, a pair of white gloves inside of a plastic baggie and a large metal container with a sticker from “Meadow Brook High School.”

 

“Bingo,” she says to herself.

 

She picks up the metal container and sets it on the counter. She flips a latch on the case and swings it open like one would a briefcase. Inside is a whole assortment of cleaning supplies including a feather duster, a static rag, and - inside a mesh cutout - a single metal key.

 

She reaches in for the key and shuts the case. She is about to leave when she pauses, her eyes narrowing. She turns back to the case and slowly re-opens it. She turns her eyes back to the drawer.

 

Why were the gloves outside of the drawer? Her eyes drift off as she thinks.

 

A thought occurs to her, and she sets the key on the counter and walks back to her box. She grabs it by the handle and returns to the kitchen where she places it flat on the ground and opens it like a suitcase. She reaches for a small black pouch and takes out a small synthetic brush and a canister of fingerprint dust.

 

She turns back to the metal case and closes it before picking the dust up and opening the can. Gently she sets the lid upright before taking the brush and spinning it gently in the lid of the canister. It picks up the fine powder.

 

Then, she gently spins the brush over the lid of the metal case. Slowly, the thin forms of fingerprints develop, three of them on the right side of the case.

 

She reaches to the camera around her neck and takes off the lens cap before angling it over the print. She tries to get it just right before taking a photo. She steps back and takes another photo of the print on the case. She looks at both images for a second before replacing the lens cap and taking the camera from around her neck and setting it down on the counter.

 

She looks at the fingerprints to determine size then turns her attention to her toolbox. She kneels down and pulls out a roll of clear tape and a pair of scissors. She cuts a sizable length of tape and turns to the print.

  
She is focused intently on the task at hand, very careful not to screw this up.

 

She carefully lays the tape on the print and smooths it out.

 

“Okay,” she says as if completing a big hurdle.

 

She turns back to her box where she pulls out a sheet of fingerprint paper. She sets it on the counter before turning back to the tape. Gently, she lifts the corners up and slowly pulls the tape up. The print comes with it. Lastly, she sets the print on the paper and runs her fingers gently across it, laying it flat against the paper. She stands back and exhales. She looks at the photograph. It could be nothing, but it could be something.

 

\--

  
Back at David Braun’s apartment, Lucifer reaches down and picks up the figurine on the table. He stands and holds it up to the light. David comes behind him with a smile.

 

“I painted him myself,” he says proudly.

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to David then back to the figurine.

 

“Hmm,” he says, “Everyone thinks I have a tail and horns, but I assure you I do not. You did get the eyes right, however.”

 

David laughs uncomfortably and reaches for another figurine on the table.

 

“We are running the Dungeon of Miles,” he says.

 

“Miles? That’s an odd name for a dungeon.”

 

“He’s one of our friends from high school, he designed it. It’s actually pretty popular.”

 

Lucifer nods, not trying hard at all to feign interest in what he is being told.

 

“He usually plays with us,” David continues, “but … he recently moved to another state with his wife so … it’s just us now.”

 

Lucifer nods and looks at the figurine again. Why did everyone think he had horns?

 

Behind them, Chloe is on the phone.

 

“No Problem,” she says before hanging up the phone and slipping it back into her pocket. She turns to Brandon.

 

“Sorry,” she says.

 

He nods and forces a timid smile out.

 

“So,” she asks, crossing her arms, “What were you and your wife fighting about? The thing you couldn’t compromise over.”

 

Brandon shakes his head as if blaming himself.

 

“I wanted kids,” he says, “but she was always so motivated by her career and … well, she didn’t know how her kink lifestyle would fit into being a parent, so she decided she didn’t want to be one.”

 

“But you really did,” Chloe says.

 

Brandon nods.

 

“I did everything I could to convince her, but … she could be stubborn at times,” he says, looking off in the distance. A smile comes to his face, possibly the first one in days.

 

“That’s what I loved about her,” he says. His smile fades as he realizes he said the word love in the past tense.

 

“Yet, you cheated on her. If you loved her so much, why cheat?” Chloe says.

 

Brandon looks at her, he has the sense this isn’t about him anymore, but he doesn’t want to give her any reason to arrest him.

 

Brandon shakes his head, he doesn’t really have an answer.

 

“I don’t know. I wish I didn’t, I wish I could take it all back, but ...,” he says, staring off into the distance.

 

He furrows his brow and shakes his head.

 

“I guess I … I was insecure,” he says, turning back to Chloe, “I thought it wasn’t that she didn’t want kids but that maybe she just didn’t want them with me? Maybe there was something wrong with me.”

 

He turns his eyes, staring off in the distance as if his mind were running in circles. He was no longer in a conversation, he was thinking out loud. She surmises he must have done a lot of it lately, he falls into it so naturally.

 

“It made me feel so lonely, so unwanted. I thought I could fill that want in Emily, but the more I look at it these past couple days I just … what I found was someone to feed that endless pit inside of me that told me I wasn’t good enough; I wasn’t cool enough.”

 

He turns back to Chloe as if realizing he was saying that out loud. He shakes his head.

 

“I realize we aren’t in High School anymore, but with her sometimes it felt like it, but in all the best and worse days. Some days I felt like we were high school sweethearts and didn’t even know it. Other days… most days, I wondered how long It would take her to realize I didn’t deserve her.”

 

His eyes turn off into the distance as if he were still questioning that. Chloe watches him, her eyes fall too, and she turns to Lucifer, who seems deep into a conversation with David. She turns back to Brandon.

 

Brandon looks up at her, catching her eyes.

 

“Look, I know I look and sound like an asshole,” he says, shaking his head, “but … when she told me she was pregnant, I was …”

 

Brandon’s eyes begin to tear up, realizing how close he had come to that dream. He looks up either to prevent the tears from falling or to ask for forgiveness.

 

“I was elated. I didn’t realize how stagnant my life had become, but suddenly, I felt free. I felt like the life I had wanted so much with the woman I loved was coming to fruition. She was upset at first,” he says, looking back to Chloe, “but …after a while she started warming up to the idea. It was like our honeymoon all over again.”

 

The conversation catches Lucifer’s attention, and he turns to them.

 

“We were making love again for the first time in years,” Brandon says, “Not just sex but … love. We were both getting ready for that new chapter in our life, and everything seemed like it was getting back to normal.”

 

Brandon looks down, realizing again what he’s lost.

 

“But you still had to deal with Emily,” Chloe says.

 

He looks back up to her and nods, “Yeah. I told my wife about the infidelity because she deserved to know. If we were going to start our family, finally, I didn’t want anything to come back and bite me in the ass.”

 

“And what did she say?” Chloe asks.

 

“She was upset at first. She didn’t speak to me for a week, but … I guess she figured since it was just sex she could get over it.”

 

“So, she knew about Emily?” Chloe asks.

 

He shakes his head, no.

 

“I wanted to tell her, but … I knew there was a big difference between having sex with another woman and loving another woman.”

 

Lucifer’s eyes drift off into the distance, an emotion brewing just behind them. David watches him as it seems as though he is no longer interested in the conversation they are having. He reaches forward and slowly pulls the figurine out of his hand. Lucifer’s eyes drift to him. He willingly lets go.

 

“We’ve actually been working on our own dungeon for a while now,” David says.

 

Lucifer turns to him.

 

David smiles at having his attention, “It’s a lot of work but … I figure why not, you know? We have nothing but time, and we certainly play the game enough to know what people want. Here, I’ll show you what we have so far.”

 

He places the devil figurine back on the table and goes into a hallway, disappearing into the bedroom.

 

\--

 

Back at the Johnson house, Ella is typing something on her tablet when the officer comes out of the front room. He stands behind her.

 

She turns to him as if to suggest he’s standing a little too close. He backs up.

 

“Anything Good?” he asks.

 

She turns back to her tablet and submits the photo into the system, “We’ll find out in a second,” she says.

 

She presses a button, and images of fingerprints start to flash on the screen. She sets the tablet down on the counter and slides the key off. She waves it in the air and happily walks to the trophy case. The officer sulks behind her, bored of house sitting.

 

She sticks the key into the lock and turns it. The cabinet pops open as she pulls it and she immediately reaches for the trophy with the water stain below it. When she lifts it up, a large water stain in the rectangle is left in its place. She looks at the bottom of the trophy and sees pieces of the metallic base have started to rust due to water exposure.

 

“Someone who takes such care of their trophies would never do this,” she says holding the bottom side to the officer. He leans down to get a better view and shakes his head.

 

“The guys get dumber and dumber by the second, huh?” he asks.

 

Ella frowns, “we almost didn’t find it. I would say we are the dumb ones in this case,” she says.

 

She leaves the key in the door and walks the trophy back to the kitchen where she sets it on the counter while he eyes the rest of the trophies.

 

She reaches in and gathers two vials from her case and a spray bottle full of water. She screws the lid off of both vials and dumps them into the spray bottle. She then tightens the cap on the bottle and shakes it.

 

She grabs a small black light and shoves it into her pants pocket. She turns to touch her tablet. The screen lights up and shows it's still running through a list of fingerprints.

 

She sighs and stops shaking the bottle and sets it on the counter. She grabs the trophy and turns it upside down, so the based of it is in the air. With her other hand, she grabs the bottle and starts to spray it. After a few sprays, she sets the bottle down and walks the trophy into a nearby closet; the kitchen pantry.

 

She closes the door behind her, and the room dips into almost near darkness. She can still make out the shapes of cans and boxes, but its dark enough for this to work. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out the black light. She flicks it on with one hand and steadies the trophy with the other.

 

The light shines over the base of the trophy, and it likes up like a crystal ball. There is blood, however cleaned off, all over the metallic base.

 

Ella smiles, “Found you,” she says.

 

She clicks the blacklight off and goes opens the door to the pantry. She goes back to her box and pulls out a folded plastic evidence bag. She shakes it open, and her tablet lights up. Her eyes turn to it as she bags the trophy. It says One match found.

 

She seals the trophy in the bag and sets it safely on the counter. Then she grabs her tablet and clicks the button that takes her to the police file of a David Braun.

 

Her eyes furrow. David Braun … where has she heard that name before?

 

The wheels turn behind her head, and suddenly it hits her. David Braun.

 

She reaches into her pocket and quickly dials Chloe’s cell phone. It rings and rings then goes to voicemail.

 

“Shit,” she says, hurriedly packing all her equipment back into her box.

 

\--

 

Back in David’s apartment, Chloe is still questioning Brandon.

 

“What did Emily say when you told her your wife was pregnant?” Chloe asks, crossing her arms.

 

He attention intensely focused on what he will say next.

 

Brandon shakes his head, “I didn’t tell her. I specifically left that information out. I didn’t want her to think I was going back to my wife, not until I figured out …not until I figured out what to do. The last thing I wanted was for Bev to find out, not when things were going so great.”

 

“So, you didn’t tell Emily?” Chloe clarifies.

 

Brandon shakes his head, “I only told a few close friends, and of course, we told our families, but we were going to wait until after the first trimester to officially announce it.”

 

David comes out of the hallway carrying a big cardboard box full of books and trinkets. He sets it with a big thud on the table and scoots it in Lucifer’s direction.

 

Lucifer shakes his head. What the hell was all this stuff? He pulls out a book and flips through it. It’s an instructional guide for creating your own dungeon. His eyebrows furrow. This is what David found entertaining?

 

Lucifer turns to David with the book.

 

“Ah, that’s the designer's guide,” he says, “it details how to properly build a dungeon.”

 

Lucifer looks at him as though it just occurred to him he had stepped into an alternate dimension.

 

“Where are my manners, can I offer you a drink?” David says.

 

Lucifer shakes his head no.

 

David turns to Chloe, “What about you, Detective, Can I offer you a drink?”

 

She smiles kindly at him and nods no. He shrugs and crosses into the kitchen to open the fridge door.

 

Lucifer goes back to sorting through the cardboard box.

 

Why would anyone need a guide on how to build a dungeon? It was actually quite simple; Wood, Leather, and if you’re lucky a little ….

 

Lucifer pauses and reaches into the side of the box, beneath papers and figurines. He pulls out a half-used roll of custom duct-tape from the box. He eyes it curiously. It has a Dungeons and Dragons emblem on it.

 

“Detective,” Lucifer says, eyeing a strand of light brown hair that is stuck to the tattered edges of the tape.

 

Chloe turns around, and her eyes widen. She leaves Brandon and walks over to Lucifer. She reaches into her pockets and pulls out a pair of white gloves. She snaps them on and takes them from Lucifer, her eyes scolding him for handling it so loosely.

 

“Detective, the thought just occurred to me that –“

 

“Yeah, me too,” she says whispering and taking a closer look at the tape.

 

“If our adulterous friend over there was with his mistress during the time of the murder,” Lucifer says, matching her tone of voice.

 

“Then where was David,” Chloe finishes.

 

The fridge door closes behind them, and David exits the kitchen, mid gulp. He pauses when he sees Chloe and Lucifer eyeballing the roll of duct-tape.

 

“He would have had the motive and the opportunity,” she continues, setting the tape down onto a clean section of the table, “His best friend was married to a woman who was already on the fence about their relationship, and he just found out he was going to have a baby.”

 

“That would have certainly put a hold on their game time,” Lucifer says.

 

“He knew Brandon would go see Emily, he knew where they lived and when Beverly would be home, all he needed to do was match his time frame, and he could go to their home and be back before anyone knew.”

 

"And he removed the tape because of this ridiculous logo on the side."

 

Chloe nods, "It would have certainly led us right to him to have a custom printed roll of duct tape wrapped around a dead body."

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “Which mean he brought the tape for the expressed purpose of murder."

 

Chloe nods.

 

Lucier furrows his eyebrows, "But why would he admit that Mr. Johnson was cheating then if Mr. Johnson was his alibi? That doesn't seem smart.”

 

The sound of the safety coming off a gun pulls them out of their conversation, and they turn to see David standing behind them, a gun pointed in their direction. Chloe turns around slowly, while Lucifer whips around, his head tilted. Chloe’s phone starts to ring.

 

“Of course he has a gun,” Lucifer says annoyed.

 

“What are you doing?” Brandon says, standing up.

 

“Do you give these things out like candy?” Lucifer asks Chloe.

 

Chloe raises her hands, completely ignoring Lucifer, and speaks in a calm tone. Chloe’s phone rings again.

 

“David put the gun down. You don’t want to make this any worse than it already is,” she says.

 

“Bro,” Brandon says, “What are you doing?”

 

Chloe’s phone rings again.

 

“Okay?” Chloe says, her hands still very much visible and away from her weapon, “We can talk about this. When the hair on that tape comes back as Beverley’s, doing something irrational won’t make the judge more lenient okay? If we cooperate, we-,” she says.

 

“Shut up!” David yells, overwhelmed, “Everybody just … shut up. Okay? I can’t think with you talking.”

 

Chloe shuts up, and Lucifer sighs. Chloe shuts her eyes briefly, mentally kicking herself for missing something so simple. Maybe she couldn’t be Lucifer’s partner anymore, not when he distracts her so much. She was sloppy. When the Lieutenant found out ….

 

“What are they talking about David?” Brandon says, “Why would -“

 

Brandon puts it all together in his head, and his eyes widen.

 

“No,” he says, his eyes welling up with tears, “you … you didn’t!”

 

“She _hated_ me!” David says, turning his head briefly to Brandon, “You would have had that kid, and she would have used it to make you stop hanging out with me. And you would have done it, even after all these years you would have done it.”

 

Brandon steadies himself on the seat behind him, slowly sitting back down. It’s all hitting him at once as if he’s replaying the last week of his life; picking up on all the clues he missed. Reliving the moments, he was with Emily and thinking about what Beverly must have gone through; what David did.

 

“She never liked me,” David says, turning back to Lucifer and Chloe, “she knew who I was the second Brandon introduced us, but she pretended she didn’t. Just like in high school.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “People change, she might not have remembered-“

 

“She did! And she would have convinced David to stop hanging out with me the second that baby was born. He had a real shot with Emily. Emily is a _nice_ girl. I couldn’t let him fall back into that relationship. It wasn’t good for him.”

 

“You mean it wasn’t good for you,” Lucifer says, “because she was the cheerleader and you were the kid who played with figurines.”

 

“All she ever talked about was her damn trophies,” he says, jutting the gun in their direction. Chloe closes her eyes and turns her head away.

 

“No one gives a shit about High School anymore!,” David says, “Half these assholes piqued then anyway and now they are stuck reliving their glory days with stupid trophies, and reunions. I wasn’t popular back then.”

 

He turns to Brandon, “We weren’t popular back then.”

 

He turns back to Chloe and Lucifer, “Why would we want to go back there?”

 

Chloe tilts her head as if finally putting two and two together, “You were afraid he would ignore you at the Reunion,” she says.

 

The anger in his eyes fades momentarily.

 

“You weren’t good friends In High School, and he was married to the head cheerleader. You were afraid you’d go to that reunion, and he’d deny you were friends. With Beverly out of the way and you as his main support, he’d have no option but to tell people how much you’ve helped. You wanted validation.”

 

David looks down as if realizing it was never about Beverly. It was about him and Brandon. He shakes his head, tossing that idea out. If he went with that idea he wasn't protecting his friend, he was .... he was just a murderer.

 

He looks back up, the anger in his eyes. He juts the gun out in her direction and pulls the trigger.

 

Lucifer pushes Chloe out of the way, sending her falling to the floor. The bullet hits him square in the chest, and he lands on the table, his hand clutching where the bullet entered.

 

“ _You motherfucker!_ ” Brandon yells as he gets up and tackles David.

 

Chloe stands and rushes to Brandon and David as Brandon starts to pummel David on the ground. She kicks the gun to the side just as the front door is kicked in by Maze. Two officers flood into the apartment behind her, guns drawn. They see the gun to the side and the men fighting on the ground.

 

“Freeze!” one yells!

 

The other one puts his gun away and jumps into the tussle, pulling the two men apart. David is pushed up against the back of the bar, right below the countertop; a murky rage replacing his sadness. The officer with the gun points it at him. He looks up at the officer and raises his hands, indicating he won’t do anything.

 

Chloe moves to Lucifer, who leans against the table, his hand still on the bullet wound. She looks at him up and down as if taking inventory of his status. Once she is satisfied she can keep an eye away from him for a second, she turns back to the men.

 

“Take that one in,” Chloe says, pointing to David, “Let the other one cool down in the car.”

 

They nod. The officer on top of David moves to slap handcuffs on him. He fights back, and the other officer joins in.

 

“Stop!” one yells, his knee firmly planted in between David’s shoulder.

 

“You want resisting arrest on top of assaulting an officer?” the other officer says.

 

Chloe turns to Lucifer, who leans against the table, slowly sliding onto the floor. She goes to him as he holds his chest in pain.

 

“Lucifer,” she says, kneeling down as he sits on the floor, “are you alright?”

 

She goes to peel back his hand, but he seems unwilling to move it.

 

“Lucifer, let me see,” she says, leaning in and pulling his fingers away. She gasps as a giant red spot continues to form on his white shirt.

 

“Oh my God,” she says, reaching for the buttons on his shirt.

 

“Hardly,” he says, “Though I’m sure he’s very entertained by my pain.”

 

She tries to undo the buttons on his shirt, but her hands start to shake. She decides to abandon saving the shirt and rips it open. Lucifer rolls his eyes.

 

“Darling, honestly … It’s like I can’t keep nice things around you.”

 

She ignores him and looks at the wound. It’s deep and the blood pouring out of his chest is a dark, rich red. This isn’t good.

 

“Lucifer,” she says, shaking her head, fighting back the tears in her eyes.

 

“It’s just a flesh wound, Detective,” he says, his voice strained with pain.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks her.

 

"Why did you do that?" she asks, "Why did you push me out the way?"

 

Lucifer scoffs, "Oh come now Detective, like I would ever let another man penetrate you."

 

She smiles, then frowns when she realizes this isn't a laughing situation. She smacks him on the shoulder and leans Lucifer forward, eliciting a groan of pain from him. She looks for an exit wound, only to find none. The bullet is still in him. She shakes her head.

 

“No exit wound, we need to get you to a hosp-“

 

She pauses. It occurs to her she can’t take the devil to the hospital. He’d probably heal before he got there anyway. _Why wasn't he healing?_

 

Maze comes and takes a squat near them. Chloe turns to her, and she nods.

 

“Sup Decker,” she says.

 

“Mazikeen,” Lucifer says, “Excellent timing as always.”

 

He chuckles and starts to cough. A spurt of blood comes out of his mouth. Chloe reaches into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out his pocket square. She begins to wipe his mouth, and he brings his hand up to it. She lets go to let him do it himself, and her eyes fall to his hands.

 

They are already turning pale.

 

Maze looks at him unphased.

 

“We got a problem,” she says.

 

“Yes, we do,” Chloe says.

 

Chloe turns to Lucifer, “Come, get up. We need to take you in. I don’t care if you’re the devil you’re not dying on my watch.”

 

She goes to move him, but he won’t budge, it’s too painful.

 

“Detective, please,” he says, “The benefit of immortality is that I can’t die. Well … not really.”

 

He turns to Maze. She reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone.

 

“Now, what is so important that you can’t wait until-“

 

Maze pushes her phone into his face. On the screen is an image of the wall. Lucifer furrows his eyebrows. Chloe leans in closer and peeks around his hand to see what he sees.

 

“He’s popped his stitches,” Maze says.

 

Lucifer hums. It’s a ghastly sound, both in its intention and the rattling in his chest.

 

“Amenadiel,” he says, anger in his voice, “he had one job.”

 

“Can someone please explain to me what is happening?” Chloe says, frustrated.

 

They turn to her, then look at one another as if to decide who has the misfortune of giving her the bad news.

 

Behind her, the officers have finally gotten the cuffs on David and pull him to his feet. One turns to Brandon, who sits on the ground by the bar still. His eyes staring forward; the anger boiling behind it.

 

They turn to each other and nods. One officer separates and approaches Brandon.

 

“You going to make this hard for me too?” he asks. Brandon looks at him, then raises his arms as if to say “cuff me.”

 

The officer rolls his eyes.

 

“Turn around,” he says.

 

Brandon turns his back to face him, and the officer leans down and slides the cuffs on easy.

 

Behind them, Lucifer and Maze still stare at one another as if playing mental rock, paper, scissors.

 

Maze shrugs, “She’s _your_ girlfriend.”

 

Lucifer looks at her as if offended.

 

“She’s not my-,” he begins, before he starts coughing again. Blood starts to tint his lips and teeth. He coughs up blood into the cloth in his hands. It is a dark rick blood; exceptionally fresh.

 

“Oh Dear,” he says.

 

“You’re dying,” Chloe says to herself as if she just realized how serious this was. They were running out of time.

 

He was supposed to be immortal. She’s seen his wings heal immediately. _Why wasn’t he healing?_

 

“Detective,” he begins, as if he is about to request something, “Would you mi-“

 

He pauses, his eyes widening. His breathing becomes labored, the rattling in his chest sounding more and more like death. He coughs again, more blood pouring into his mouth.

 

“I …” he says, gasping for air, “I can’t … breathe.”

 

He slowly starts to collapse onto the floor. Chloe lurches forward and holds his head to keep him from slamming it on the tile. He gasps for air like a fish out of water.

 

“Your lung is collapsed,” she says, the panic in her voice only increasing.

 

He smiles, “Chloe … go…,” he says, struggling to get his words out.

 

“Shh,” she says, shushing him. She turns to the officers, who begin to lead both handcuffed men towards the door.

 

“Get me an ambulance!” she screams.

 

One of the officer’s turn, sees a pale Lucifer on the ground, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. He reaches to his shoulder to hold down the transmit button on his radio.

 

“Dispatch this is Unit 109,”

 

“Go ahead 109,” dispatch calls back.

 

“We are 10-97 with two suspects in custody. Shots fired.   
Requesting medical intervention.”

 

“10-4, Unit 109. Requesting an ambulance at your location.”

 

He waits for a second. Chloe turns back to Lucifer, whose labored breathes have only gotten worse. She turns her eyes to the wound in his chest. The blood has stopped seeping through the wound. The bullet must have hit his lung, she thinks, and the blood is flooding into his chest. The radio comes back.

 

“Unit 109, Ambulance in route to your location. ETA 4 minutes,” it says.

 

The officer turns his head and reaches up, “10-4,” he responds. He turns to Chloe.

 

“Four minutes,” he says.

 

She turns to Lucifer.

 

“Four minutes okay?” she says, tears starting to form in her eyes, “Just … just take slow deep breathes for me, alright?”

 

He smiles and reaches a hand up to her shoulder.

 

“Darling …,” he says, taking deep breathes between each word, “I’m … the ... “

 

Silence. He doesn’t finish his sentence, and his smile slowly fades. His eyes drift up to the ceiling and stare forward, wide and focused.

 

“Lucifer?” she says.

 

He doesn’t respond.

 

She grabs his face, it’s cold.

 

“Lucifer stay with me,” she cries.

 

He continues to stare forward, his breathing raspy and thin.

 

Maze sighs and stands up.

 

“Come on, Decker, let’s go for a walk.”

 

She furrows her eyes and shakes her head, “What?” she says.

 

“Come, let’s get you some air.”

 

“Are you fucking crazy? We have to stay here,” she says, turning back to Lucifer, “We have to stabilize him until the ambulance gets here.”

 

Maze rolls her eyes, “He’s immortal decker. Well, he would be if you weren’t breathing all over him.”

 

“Lucifer!” she says again, trying to get him to look at her.

 

He continues to stare forward, then his head goes lax, and his eyes dull. A small pool of blood begins to form in the back of his mouth. He does nothing to prevent it. In fact, it seems like it doesn’t even bother him.

  
She pauses and looks at him.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks. She watches him, her eyes and ears taking in the stillness of his form.

 

He wasn’t breathing.

 

She lowers her ear to his chest.

 

The heartbeat she had clung so dearly to a week ago was not there; it was silent.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks again, her voice weak, and her eyes flooded with tears.

 

He doesn't respond.

 

“No, no, no,” she says, grabbing his shirt and pulling it out of his pants.

 

It shakes his core a little, only emphasizing how still he is. She pulls his shirt fully open and starts doing chest compressions.

 

“Don’t leave me you asshole,” she says, anger only covering the hurt in her voice.

 

“Decker!” Maze says, grabbing her arm.

 

Chloe yanks her arm away from Maze and goes back to doing chest compressions.

 

“Don’t just stand there, help me!” she yells.

 

Maze clenches her jaw and rolls her eyes.

 

“I’m trying to,” Maze responds.

 

Maze takes a deep breath and wraps her entire arm around Chloe’s body and physically pulls her off of Lucifer. Chloe fights her, grabbing onto Maze’s hands and trying to push them far enough away from her that she can slip through. It doesn’t work, Maze is too strong.

 

“No!” she screams and kicks, realizing she isn't getting out of her grasp.

 

Maze begins to drag her towards the door, Chloe screaming and kicking the entire way.

 

“Let me go!” she screams again, “Stop! Maze!”

 

“Calm down!,” Maze says.

 

They reach the door, and Chloe spreads her arms and legs, holding onto the arch of the door.

 

“Chloe,” Maze warns, “Don’t make me have to break your limbs … you know I will.”

 

“Stop!” she cries, “I have to-“

 

Her eyes move up to Lucifer’s still body on the floor, his dead eyes plastered to the ceiling. She stops fighting, the idea dawning on her it might be too late.

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head, tears pouring from her eyes.

 

Her limbs go limp enough that Maze can pull her through the doorway.

 

“No!” she screams again, it’s filled with pain and hurt and is not directed at Maze, but instead is directed at Lucifer; at God.

 

At anyone who could change the truth.

 

He was dead.

 

_The Devil wasn’t supposed to die._


	11. A Ghost in the Revolver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer dies and goes to hell. Ezria starts to find something curious about calmos, Chloe learns the truth about Lucifer's vulnerabilities, and Dan makes a final decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING for those who have a hard time reading about suicide.
> 
> Sorry for the delay. Work is continuing to kick my ass and probably will for at least another month. I will post updates when I have the time. I will continue to try and post once a week, but sometimes it might be a little longer. We are getting close to Lucifer and Chloe finally "doing the nasty" so do not worry. I've been writing and re-writing the scene on and off since the last part, and I ended up with like five different sex scenes that I'm still deciding which one fit best with their character, the remainder of the story and the arc of their sexual relationship.

 

 

Inside the tower that juts out from rows and rows of cells, Calmos and Ezria sit inside the room with the balcony. Calmos plays random notes with his harmonica, trying to get anything to sound good and Ezria sits on a couch, his leg bouncing with impatience.

 

Ezria turns his eyes to Calmos, annoyed. He watches him for a brief moment, and his annoyance slowly dissipates. His eyes soften, and his head tilts as he watches the young demon playing with this strange instrument. It’s curious and …

 

Calmos’s eyes turn to him, and they both look shocked. Calmos is shocked to see he is being watched and Ezria to have been caught.

 

Ezria clears his throat, feigning annoyance again.

 

“How much longer will this take?” he asks.

 

Calmos smiles and turns back to his instrument, “Be patient, my Lord.”

 

Ezria grunts and stands. He begins pacing the room, his impatience back with impunity. He couldn’t wait much longer. He had been patient all this time and now that he was so close to getting what he wanted - now that he was so close to _never_ having to be squeezed beneath another’s thumb - patience was something he was distinctly lacking.

 

The double doors nearby open and Calmos' father – Atmos – enters with something wrapped in dirty linen shrouds.

 

Ezria turns to him, and his anger fades into happiness. At least, he thinks it is happiness. He hasn’t felt it in such a long time, not since the Silver City, it is a feeling that is hard to pinpoint.

 

Calmos hops up from his seat, shoving the harmonica into the small cloth bag draped across his shoulders. He approaches Atmos happily, like a puppy seeing its owner after a long day.

 

“Father!” he says excitedly, “Have you -”

 

Atmos’s face scrounges up in disgust.

 

“Fix your face Calmos,” he says.

 

Calmos pauses, then his smile fades, and he physically becomes smaller; his demeanor now timid. Atmos has no response to this, he just leans forward and dumps the linen-covered package into Calmos’ arms. Calmos takes the package and braces himself, fully expecting them to be heavy. Instead, they are exceptionally light, way lighter than any blade he’s ever felt.

 

He looks down at the linen and tilts his head curiously.

 

“Are you sure they are finished?” Calmos asks.

 

Atmos looks at him with anger behind his eyes for questioning his craft. He reaches forward and slaps a hand across the back of Calmos’s head.

 

“What did I tell you about asking questions?” he says.

 

“Sorry,” Calmos says sheepishly. Atmos points to Ezria aggressively, and Calmos begins to walk the linen-covered blades to Ezria.

 

Ezria stands by and watches, his head tilted, and a darkness stirring just behind his light brown eyes. He doesn’t like Atmos. He doesn’t like Atmos _at all_.

 

Calmos approaches Ezria, almost cowering now, his eyes stuck to the floor. He turns back to Atmos then turns to Ezria. Their eyes meet, and Ezria notices a strange sadness behind them. The anger in his eyes dulls and is replaced again by curiosity.

 

“Your blades, my Lord,” Calmos says softly, his eyes struggling to meet Ezria’s again.

 

Ezria’s steps to the side and extends his hand, leading Calmos towards the nearby Chair.

 

It’s odd, Ezria thinks, that this was the same demon who had defied him so surely inside the lagoon. Ezria’s eyes move to Atmos’s and wonder what this demon had done to change him so.

 

Calmos approaches the chair and sets the package down. He unwraps them to reveal two dark and long blades with strange hilts that poke out like the talons of an eagle. They look more like curved swords than blades, but still have strange runic symbols on them. Ezria’s eyes widen, and he slowly approaches them.

 

“Well?” Calmos says.

 

Ezria lays a hand on one of the blades in awe. He slides his finger down the edge of one. It effortlessly slices his finger tip in half, and the tip falls to the floor. His finger gushes blood for a few seconds before the wound closes and the tip grows back.

 

He looks up at Calmos then turns to Atmos.

 

“Beautiful,” he says.

 

Atmos smiles with pride, “You won’t find a blade like it in all of Hell.”

 

Ezria smiles and turns to Calmos.

 

His smile makes Calmos smile in return. Ezria eyes him with intrigue, he liked to see this demon smile.

 

“I did what you asked,” Atmos says, “Can I go now?”

 

Ezria turns to him, his smile fading slightly. He narrows his eyes and nods.

 

“You did well,” he says, “You may go.”

 

Calmos watches him leave and watches the door close behind him. His eyes move from the door only to be met with an intense stare from Ezria.

 

Calmos looks at him, the coyness in his stance slowly disappearing.

 

“What?” he asks, “Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

 

Ezria narrows his eyes, “I do not yet know,” he says, “but there is something …”

 

He hums to himself, his eyes still narrow.

 

Calmos turns to the blades, “Shall we?” he says, ignoring the look Ezria is giving him.

 

He reaches down and carefully grabs one of the blades. Ezria nods once and turns around, his back facing Calmos.

 

His black wings pop out and extend in all their glory. Ezria moves away from the seat and kneels in front of the balcony. Behind him, Calmos approaches Ezria, the blade carefully held in his hands as to not cut himself.

 

He brings the blade around his right wing and slips it over the ends of his bones. They sit snuggly on wrist of his wing. Calmos reaches under and ties the set of leather straps meant to hold it on permanently.

 

The blade shines and glistens as a web of gold light flows across it.

 

“Tighter,” Ezria says. Calmos looks at him and his eyebrows furrow as he looks down at the strap. He had tied it tightly already.

 

“Are you sure?” he says, “It will hold-“

 

“I said do it tighter,” Ezria says in a serious tone.

 

Calmos pauses.

 

Ezria’s eyes turn slightly to him. He wanted to apologize for his outburst but …

 

He turns back to the balcony.

 

Angels should _never_ apologize to demons. He had nothing to be apologetic about.

 

Calmos turns back to the strap and yanks it tight before buckling it. It cuts into Ezria’s wings, and his face momentarily grimaces in pain.  It is a pleasing pain to him, one that makes him smile eerily. He seems to take great joy in it.

 

Calmos backs away. Ezria moves his wing, testing the lightness of the blade. He hums a pleased sound as darkness starts to leak into his eyes again. Calmos turns to retrieve the second blade.

 

“You’re an odd Demon Calmos,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos pauses and turns to Ezria. He turns back to the second blade and picks it up gently.

 

“I suppose that is meant to be a compliment,” he says jokingly.

 

Ezria shakes his head, “I do not yet know whether that is a criticism or compliment,” he says flatly.

 

Calmos approaches to lower the other blade onto his wing when he pauses. The thought occurs to him, if only for a second, that this might be a bad idea.  Ezria notices his silence and turns around. Their eyes meet, and Ezria reads the hesitation in them. The darkness in his eyes begins to fade, and his eyes widen. Calmos pushes through that feeling.

 

“Turn around,” he says.

 

Ezria turns back around, a confusion plastered on his face. Did he just? No, he must have seen incorrectly, Ezria thinks.

Calmos lowers the blade before pulling the straps tight, almost too tight and buckling them.

 

“Done,” he says as he backs away.

 

Ezria stands and stretches his wings out wide and proud, the blades shining off the dim light of nearby candles. Slowly, he collapses them cautiously, as If nervous they might not have been appropriately made to disappear with his wings.

 

His wings fold into his back, as do the blades. He pauses and shifts his shoulders around as if testing. Pleased that they were made correctly, he smiles and turns his eyes to Calmos. Calmos watches him as if waiting for a reply; as if waiting for approval.

 

Ezria tilts his head. He recognizes that look as waiting for approval. That need for approval came from insecurity.

 

Demons weren’t insecure, or happy, or sad, and they certainly didn’t have an internal monologue about what is right or wrong; they simply didn’t care. So why did Calmos? Why was Calmos displaying all of this? Was It something he picked up from centuries of tending to humans …

 

Or was it something else?

 

Ezria tilts his head.

 

Calmos looks on at him annoyed. Ezria keeps looking at him like that.

 

“Well?” Calmos asks impatiently.

 

“Compliment or not,” Ezria says, “you certainly have my curiosity.”

 

\--

The sound of Chloe’s screams fade into nothingness until suddenly Lucifer opens his eyes to find himself standing in the center of an endless row of cells. He immediately forgets the pain in her voice as his mind is filled with an annoyance of being back in this place; in hell.

 

He looks around and sighs, his shoulders dropping. He did not intend to be back here anytime soon.

 

“Well, I’d say ‘what the hell’ but that feels a bit too on the nose,” he says.

 

He looks up to see the endless ash falling. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him, and he turns to his shoulder to see if the ash is sticking this time. His eyes furrow when the ash not only doesn’t stick, but it falls through him as if he were a ghost.

 

“Well,” he says to himself, “That is definitely a first.”

 

Or was it? He thinks for a moment. He had been to hell many times, but only once without a body. When Malcolm shot him in the hangar, and he asked father to protect Chloe, he had momentarily returned to hell as just a soul. But at least the ash stuck to him that time. This time ….

 

He turns back to verify only to find the ash still falls through him. He pulls his hands up to his face. His form was not transparent, but solid as if he had his body. Yet, the ash still fell through him.

 

“Huh,” he says, an intrigue behind his voice. It’s not often the Devil has the answer to a question he didn’t even know he had. He nods, pleased with that. He turns his head back to the rows and rows of cells.

 

But he was certainly not pleased with this.

 

He turns behind him to see the first door in a series of doors that lead to the mortal realm. They are locked and chained. He didn’t need them to leave hell, now that he had his wings, but he had the distinct feeling he couldn’t go back just yet. In fact, he had no idea how long it would take for his body to be ready. He imagines this is what it must feel like to have to wait in line at a restaurant.

 

He resigns himself to being here for a while. Until his body is healed and ready for him, he can’t go back to it. Who knows how long that might be, especially considering the Detective’s tendency to be close to him.

 

Still, it was either him or her and …

 

He turns back to the rows of cells.

 

This was _far_ better than the alternative.

 

He lets out a deep sigh and nods to himself. Might as well see what Ezria was up to, he thinks. Perhaps he is ready to take over his rightful role as Lord of Hell. That would certainly make his job easier.

 

He spreads his wings and flies straight up to catch his bearings. Off in the distance, he sees the tower jutting out from the low rows of cells and dimly lit cabins.

 

\--

 

Ezria stands, staring intensely into Calmos’ eyes. His look of curiosity fades and they stand there staring at one another.

 

“Calmos,” he says calmly, his eyes slowly lowering over his frame, “I have the strangest feeling just now.”

 

Calmos turns and begins gathering the linen on the couch, pretending to not pay attention to Ezria.

 

“Oh?” he asks, a sudden nervousness in his voice.

 

Ezria’s eyes drop down to watch Calmos’s backside as he gathers the linens.

 

“I shouldn’t, “he says, remembering what he looked like beneath his clothing, “but for some odd reason I-“

 

Lucifer softly lands on the balcony behind him and they both turn. Ezria is surprised to see Lucifer while Calmos suddenly falls onto his knees.

 

“My King,” he says.

 

Ezria looks down at Calmos and narrows his eyes. He turns back to Lucifer as he strides into the room, his wings collapsing behind him. Suddenly, he feels great _envy._

 

“Ezria,” Lucifer says, his eyes temporarily cast down to Calmos before returning to his brother, “I see you’ve taken quite well to your duties here.”

 

Ezria shakes his head and frowns,” It’s quite the opposite brother, the demons here are very unwelcoming. Well, some of them,” he says, turning to Calmos.

 

Calmos rises back up and quietly stands next to Ezria.

 

Lucifer chuckles as he strides further into the room, very comfortable with where he is. If he didn’t _actually_ own the place, it would appear that he thought he owned the place.

 

“They are demons Ezria. I believe that Is their M.O.”

 

Ezria nods.

 

It is silent for a moment before he opens his mouth again, “I would ask you what you are doing here but, this is your domain after all,” he says.

 

Lucifer smiles and moves to sit in a nearby chair.

 

“Yes well, it seems I’m having quite the unexpected visit,” he says, “Nevertheless I shall be out of your hair soon. You can go back to …”

 

His eyes move to Calmos, then down his frame.

 

“Whatever you were doing,” he finishes.

 

Ezria notices the way he is looking at Calmos. He turns to Calmos.

 

“You may leave,” he says.

 

Calmos nods and heads towards the door, shutting it behind him.

 

Ezria watches as he leaves then turns to see Lucifer staring at him.

 

“What?” Ezria asks.

 

Lucifer smiles, “I keep forgetting you and I are cut from the same cloth,” he says.

 

Ezria narrows his eyes, he doesn’t understand what Lucifer is referencing.

 

Lucifer sighs and sits forward.

 

“You and the young demon. He’s one of the more attractive ones, I’ll give you that. Had the Detective and I not started our …”

 

He doesn’t have the word for it. Relationship? That felt odd. The Devil in a relationship? He didn’t want any other woman – or man for that matter – and he didn’t want her with anyone else. Did that mean they were in a relationship? Did that make him her _boyfriend_?

 

He turns his head, writing a list of people he needed to consult about this. Dr. Linda was at the top of this list, and if she weren’t available, he supposes Amenadiel might do. He needed to know what to say before he approached the Detective.

 

He pauses. _The Detective._ He wonders what she was doing right now. He wonders how long it would take for his body to be ready.

 

“Lucifer?” Ezria says.

 

Lucifer tunes back into the conversation.

 

“You were saying?” Ezria asks.

 

A smile falls over Lucifer’s face, and he sits back.

 

“Nothing,” he says, “but you do know that if you had any … questions, you could ask me, Right?”

 

Ezria scoffs and moves to sit opposite of him, “I have many questions brother, but how can I ask them when you are on earth all the time?”

 

“Ezria, you are free now,” Lucifer says, sitting back in his chair and crossing his legs, “You have wings. Just come visit me.”

 

Ezria looks at him oddly, the thought not having occurred to him that he wasn’t stuck in this ... well … hell hole.

 

He shakes his head, “I couldn’t. Who would be here to watch the demons? The mortals?”

 

Lucifer chuckles, “Brother I’ve been on earth for quite some time and everything has worked out just fine. They can operate by themselves for a little bit. You don’t have to always keep watch.”

 

Ezria shakes his head. Perhaps that is why this place is so horrid. The demons don’t listen to Ezria, they don’t even respect him. They have zero direction or leadership … no wonder they do as they please.

They live and kill in hell freely with no rhyme or reason. They, quite frankly, wander around as if they own the place.

 

“Lucifer,” Ezria says, his voice suddenly stern, “I don’t think you quite realize how-“

 

Suddenly a deep breeze rolls through, and the faintest voice says, “Clear!”

 

Lucifer’s eyes turn to the wall as if staring through it, his ears suddenly fine-tuned to everything around him. Ezria catches Lucifer’s odd movement and turns to see what he is staring at.

 

“What?” he asks, seeing how intensely Lucifer looks at the wall, “What is it?”

 

Lucifer slowly stands, his eyes and ears taking in the stillness of the room. Suddenly his wings pop out, and he begins to slowly walk towards the balcony.

 

“Did you hear that?” Lucifer says.

 

“Hear what?” Ezria says.

 

Lucifer pauses again and his eyebrows furrow. He turns to Ezria and smiles.

 

“I believe my table is ready,” he says.

 

Ezria shakes his head, not understanding the reference. Lucifer heads to the balcony and jumps off, his wings holding him in the air. Ezria stands behind him.

 

“Wait! Brother!” he says as Lucifer disappears into the ash above him. He sighs.

 

“I have so many questions.”

 

\--

 

Inside David Braun’s apartment, Lucifer lays motionless on the floor. Two paramedics kneel next to him. One is sitting next to a defibrillator while the other does chest compressions.

 

A third paramedic combs his body for a wound but finds none. The hole in his chest has long been sealed shut.

 

There is blood all over his shirt, and his head is turned as blood still pooled in his mouth.

 

“Anything?” asks the paramedic with the defibrillator.

 

“No, I’m not seeing anything,” says the third paramedic. He tilts Lucifer’s head to the side, and blood drips from his mouth onto the floor below.

 

The second paramedic sees this and nods towards it, “Check to see if he bit his tongue? We could be dealing with a seizure.”

 

“Call said gunshot wound,” says the first paramedic, as he dials in the defibrillator.

 

The second paramedic turns to the first, “You see a gunshot wound here, Rick? Feel free, my dude, to let us know.”

 

The third paramedic peeks inside his mouth and sticks his fingers in there to feel around. He shakes his head, Lucifer’s tongue feels intact.

 

“No, tongue seems fine,” he says.

 

The second paramedic sits back, confused, “Then where the _fuck_ is all this blood coming from?”

 

“Clear,” Rick says, the defibrillator ready again.

 

They sit back and make sure they aren’t touching Lucifer. Rick leans in and places the paddle on Lucifer’s chest.

 

The machine whines to life as it gets ready to shock. The paddles release their energy, and Lucifer’s chest rises and falls as electricity runs through him.

 

Rick sits back, and the others wait for a second before leaning in. The second paramedic checks a pulse while the third paramedic goes back to looking for the source of blood.

 

“I don’t fucking get it,” says the third paramedic.

 

“Maybe he’s bleeding internally?” says the second paramedic, “he might have passed out from the pain. Maybe an ulcer or …”

 

“With no pulse? And no bullet wound?” Rick says.

 

The second paramedic turns to the first paramedic, “What is your deal, today?” he asks, “Like honestly.”

 

“I –," Rick begins to respond.

 

The second paramedic shuts him up and quickly turns back to Lucifer. He pauses and waits.

 

Suddenly there is urgency in his voice, “I got a pulse!” he says.

 

The third paramedic leaps up with Rick, and they head to the door.

 

“We’ll get the stretcher. Get that mask on him!” Rick yells.

 

The second paramedic nods and reaches for the bag. Before he can even pull the oxygen mask off, Lucifer sits straight up, inhaling a deep, raspy breath.

 

The two paramedics by the door pause, while the one near Lucifer looks on in shock.

 

Lucifer starts to cough, and chunks of blood fill his mouth.

 

“Hey,” the second paramedic says, “Lay back down, okay? We got you covered buddy. Just, lay back down.”

 

The other two paramedics turn and rush to get the stretcher from the back of the van.

 

Lucifer continues to cough up blood.

 

The paramedic turns to the bag behind him and pulls out a large pad of gauze. He then reaches up and places gauze over Lucifer’s mouth. Lucifer coughs up more blood and chunks that began to congeal in his lungs come out. The paramedic removes his hand as Lucifer takes the gauze and spits into it. The paramedic grabs the oxygen mask and gently pushes Lucifer to lay back down. Lucifer fights him off.

 

“Just relax,” he says, “Relax! Everything will be okay.”

 

Lucifer gasps for air then clears his throat and wipes the remaining blood onto the gauze pad. The paramedic tries to put an oxygen mask on him.

 

“I don’t believe that will be necc–“ he begins to say as the mask lands on his mouth.

 

Lucifer takes a deep breath, and his muscles relax at the pure oxygen flowing through his lungs. It cuts the edge off the last remnants of pain in his chest, and he sighs.

 

“Oh, that’s _good_ ,” he says, his voice muffled by the mask.

 

“Just relax,” the paramedic says in a soothing voice, trying to calm him by rubbing his shoulder. The paramedic turns to see when his buddies would come back.

 

Lucifer lays still for a moment, breathing in deeply with his eyes rolled back as if he were enjoying every second of oxygen.

 

He lets out a deep, satisfied sigh as his eyes turn to see the paramedic staring at him, gently rubbing his shoulder. His eyes turn down to it then back to the paramedic. They both pause for a second, realizing how awkward this moment is.

 

He quickly sits up and starts to peel the mask off.

 

“Hey!” the paramedic says, attempting to keep the mask on, “Keep that mask on, okay? We gotta keep the mask on buddy.”

 

Lucifer ignores him and sits back up, peeling the mask completely off his face.

 

“While I appreciate your assistance, I’d be much happier if this was nitrous oxide.”

 

He stands up quickly and becomes temporarily light-headed.

 

“Seriously,” the paramedic says, moving to catch him if he falls, “You need to take it easy. You were legally dead for a few minutes there.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Is there such thing as an illegal death?” he asks, standing tall. He brings his hands up to his chest and feels the spot where the bullet hole used to be. He then notices the bullet hole straight through his shirt.

 

He shakes his head, frustrated, and turns to the paramedic.

 

“I might as well start wearing T-shirts,” he says.

 

The two paramedics return with the stretcher. As soon as they hit the door, they both turn to see Lucifer standing, looking perfectly fine. They are completely flabbergasted.

 

“Now,” Lucifer begins, “I appreciate … whatever it is that you think you did, but if you don’t mind, I have an urgent matter to attend to,” he says, walking away from the paramedic towards the door.

 

“You can’t go! We need to check your vitals,” the paramedic says, trying to reason with him. He’s strangely aware that he can’t take Lucifer.

 

Lucifer completely ignores him and continues to walk towards the door. The two paramedics stand in the opening. They look at each other as if understanding what they have to do if he tries to fight them.

 

“At least let us give you something to take the edge off!” the second paramedic says in panic as he tries desperately to get Lucifer to stay.

 

Lucifer pauses and turns around.

 

He sighs, “Fine, but If you put another mask on me, I’d like it to have some painkilling effects.”

 

The paramedic furrows his eyes, “are you in pain?” he asks, looking at the blood on his shirt.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, a substantial annoyance in his voice “No.”

 

The paramedic looks back to his co-workers at the door, a look on his face that says he is over it. He has no idea what is going on, but he is over it.

 

\--

 

Outside, Maze sits on the edge of the sidewalk across the parking lot. She flips her knife in boredom. Chloe sits next to her, her arms crossed and leaning forward as she tries hard to fight back the tears.

 

She shakes her head in disbelief; he can’t leave her now. They had just gotten past that hurdle, the one thing that was keeping her at arm’s length. She felt like he was finally opening up and … he just _can’t_ leave now.

 

Maze sighs, a slight annoyance in her posture.

 

“Decker, It’s fine. I told you. Just give him a second.”

 

Chloe continues to shake her head. Her voice is soft and confused.

 

“He’s supposed to be immortal Maze … Immortals don’t die. They don’t … they don’t _die_.”

 

Maze sighs and looks up towards the outdoor walkway that leads to David’s apartment. She sees two paramedics rush out of it, jog down the steps and quickly pull a stretcher from the back of the ambulance.

 

Chloe looks up and watches as they lift the stretcher and take care while moving up the steps, despite their rush. She sits up slightly. They wouldn’t be rushing if he were still dead.

 

Maze stands up and stuffs her knife into her pocket.

 

“This is all just a waste of time. We should be out there looking for Dan.”

 

Chloe turns to her, a curious look in her eyes. Maze wasn’t particularly fond of Dan so why was she so eager to find him? Her eyes lower just a bit as she thinks. Could Dan really be in trouble?

 

Her eyes turn just as two confused medics walk out of the apartment carrying the stretcher back to the ambulance. She straightens up, checking their demeanor. They carefully, and in no hurry, walk down the outside steps, talking to each other; that confused look on their face seemingly permanently plastered.

 

“I don’t know man,” one says to the other as they approach the ambulance, “all I know is there was _way_ too much blood there for him to be so …”

 

“Normal?” the other guy says.

 

They slip the stretcher into the back of the ambulance.

 

“ _That guy_ ,” he says, pointing to the open doorway just as Lucifer and walks out, the third paramedic tailing behind him, “is so far from normal it’s scary.”

 

They turn as Lucifer saunters down the stairwell, his jacket draped over his arm as he carefully unbuttons the rest of his bloodied and tattered shirt.

 

“His shirt looks worst than he does,” one paramedic says to the other, “How is that possible?”

 

“Are you sure it was a gunshot call?”

 

The paramedic shakes his head, “Arriving officers say they heard a gunshot, and there was a lot of blood so …”

 

He pauses and shrugs. They push the tail end of the stretcher all the way back into the ambulance as Lucifer approaches the van.

 

Chloe stands and slowly begins to walk towards them, her eyes never leaving him. He looked … fine.

 

“Now,” Lucifer says, sitting on the edge of the van, as he slips the remainder of his shirt off his body,” Let’s get this over with, yeah? I have things to attend to.”

 

“What exactly happened? Where did all that blood come from?” a paramedic asks, trying to figure out what they missed. This has to be a joke.

 

He sets the jacket on the spot next to him, but it slips. He grabs it and looks up just as Chloe comes into view.

 

“Ah! Detective,” he says, “Do you mind?”

 

He holds out the jacket for her, and she doesn’t even turn her eyes away from him. Before he was rough and annoyed by everything - death had certainly not been kind to him - but she sees him begin to soften.

 

He watches her. That look on her face felt all too familiar.

 

“Oh,” he says, his tone changing, “I see.”

 

Two paramedics stick to the side while the other checks his vitals. He places a cold stethoscope on Lucifer’s chest to check his heartbeat. It is steady, albeit a tad bit fast.

 

Lucifer continues to stare at Chloe. He can tell she has so many questions, but mostly she seems … sad. He can see the puffiness in her eyes; she was crying again. His eyes drop as the paramedic puts a cuff around his arm to check his blood pressure.

 

Lucifer hadn’t thought about what it must have looked like to her. Honestly, he hadn’t had time. He had been so absorbed in the process of dying, of going back to hell, that he hadn’t even thought about what it must have been like to watch him die. He imagines it might have felt similar to …

 

It takes him back to that moment. Sitting next to her still body and knowing there was nothing he could have done. His eyes start to tear up, but he reaches up and wipes them away. He’s cried enough for one lifetime, and he _definitely_ wouldn’t do it in front of these humans.

 

The paramedic looks at him, catching a glance of his momentary emotion. It was something other than the asshole he had been before. He nods to himself.

 

“You know,” he says, “People process death in different ways. You were legally dead for a few minutes. Your vitals are checking out fine but ….”

 

Lucifer’s eyes meet his.

 

“… don’t think you got away scot-free.”

 

The paramedic pulls the cuff off his arm and sets it aside.

 

“I can’t take you in unless you ask for it or unless you are in dire need and I can already tell you won't request it so … you’re good man. I don’t know how but … you’re good.”

 

Lucifer nods, all the bravado suddenly drained from him.

 

“Good genetics I suppose,” he says, a small smile on his face as he attempts to lighten the mood. It doesn’t help, she is still staring at him like that. He stands and slowly approaches Chloe. 

 

The paramedics pack up their bags behind them and shut the ambulance van.

 

“Get him fully checked out, yeah?” the paramedic says to Chloe. She nods briefly, then turns back to Lucifer.

 

Nearby officers look at the paramedics oddly. The paramedics briefly turn to Lucifer and one ventures to speak with the officers.

 

Lucifer stops in front of Chloe. He slips his jacket back on.

 

“Are you alr-“

 

She lurches forward and wraps her arms around him, holding him tight. He braces himself at her impact, a look of shock on his face.

 

“Don’t ever do that again!” she says with anger in her voice that barely covers a new wave of tears. She presses her head into his chest.

 

He smiles and gently wraps his arms around her.

 

“Darling, believe me when I say I don’t plan on it. Hell is so much more boring when you don’t have a body.”

 

She doesn’t respond, she just clings tightly to him, listening to his heartbeat. There had been a bullet hole there earlier; had hadn’t been breathing properly earlier.

 

He holds her, a brief smile coming over his face. He finds comfort in her embrace.

 

She separates from him, he wants to keep her close, but he lets her go. She stands back, wiping tears from her face. She crosses her arms and stares at him. He sees she has many questions but doesn’t know where to begin.

 

She shakes her head as her eyes drift off, “I don’t … I don’t get how it works,” she says.

 

“I saw you take all those bullets from Jimmy and they just … you absorbed them like it was nothing. But then I shot you…” she says, looking back at him, “and I felt awful about that.”

 

She shakes her head again, closing her eyes tightly, “and in the hangar, with Malcolm … I mean … am I crazy?”

 

She opens her eyes and looks at him, "I don’t get it. You’re supposed to be immortal.”

 

“I am, Detective,” he says.

 

“No, no you’re not. No you’re not, because you just died, Lucifer. Immortals don’t die.  Immortality means you don’t die, and you just _died_.“

 

Lucifer sighs and nods. He supposes now he had to tell her. He had to tell her that father had a hand in creating her; that he was vulnerable around her. That what was between them was … a lie. It had to be … otherwise, she was a fool. If she had free will to love him, then she was a fool.

 

 He shuts his eyes tightly, a feeling in his chest again. He brings his hands up and grips his heart. That was a worst pain than death.

 

Chloe pauses, her face falling. She approaches him and lays a hand on his.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks worriedly.

 

He turns to her with that look in his eyes. That look like he was going to say something heavy on his heart.

 

“Detective,” he says, “ I … I am vulnerable around you.”

 

She nods and runs her hand down his arm before grabbing his hand and holding it in hers.

 

“Me too,” she says, “and that’s okay. It means we trust-“

 

She looks at up at him mid-sentence to find him staring at her with those intense eyes.

 

“- each other,” she finishes slowly.

 

He continues to stare at her as if waiting; as if waiting for it to register. She pauses and thinks about what he said.

 

_He was vulnerable around her._

 

Her eyes cascade down to his chest then to the crumpled up shirt in his hand and to the bloodstains.

 

She swallows her spit, her mouth obscenely dry now.

 

“But you … you don’t mean emotionally,” she says, stepping away from him, “Do you?”

 

He smiles, lovingly at her and shakes his head.

 

“You … I make you vulnerable?” she asks to clarify.

 

She looks at him, a look of horror and confusion on her face.

 

His smile fades.

 

“I don’t know exactly how it works,” he says, “but you are a miracle. Father had a direct hand in creating you and … you seem to make me …”

 

“Mortal,” she says, her eyes staring off into the distance.

 

Was this what Michael was warning her about? About Lucifer bleeding? About him dying?

 

Lucifer scoffs, “When you put it like that you make it sound so _tasteless_.”

 

Her eyes drift off, many thoughts running around in her head. Suddenly …

 

“Wait,” she says, shaking her head and holding her hand out, “so when you came over that night, after not sleeping with me ...”

 

“By the way, I believe that to be the worst decision I ever made Detective,” he says, laughing at himself.

 

Chloe continues her sentence, not even giving him the satisfaction of a response, “and you told me I made you vulnerable… you meant-“

 

“Physically.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, trying to wrap her head around that idea. She made the devil vulnerable?

 

“So … you can die around me?” she asks

 

“Yes,” he replies.

 

“and only me?” she asks.

 

“Well,” he says, shaking his head, “I haven’t tested it with every human as you can imagine but ...”

 

“And you knew that?” she asks.

 

“Yes,” he replies, his eyes piercing through her. He would never lie to her, and she knew that, but she got the distinct feeling he was opening himself for brutal honesty.

 

“and you … still pushed me out the way?” she asks.

 

He pauses and looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed as if that were a silly question.

 

“Yes,” he says, “and I always will, Detective.”

 

They stare at one another, the silence between them speaking words. The tension is thick.

 

Maze looks on, an annoyance behind her stance. She tilts her head, unsure whether this tension is sexual or something else. Either way, she’s over it.

 

She groans and rolls her eyes.

 

“Are we done here yet? Can we get back to looking for Dan?” she asks.

 

“Right,” Lucifer says, staring at Chloe, “Daniel.”

 

Suddenly it dawns on him.

 

“Daniel!” he says, turning to Maze. She raises her hands as if to say finally.

 

Lucifer approaches her, Chloe follows close by.

 

“This only goes to show if you want something done, you must do it yourself. Amenadiel had _one_ task,” he says, his attention now focused on how angry he should be.

 

Maze shrugs, “I’m pretty sure I felt some celestial energy, but who knows.”

 

Lucifer nods, “Well, before we start typing angry emails, let’s confirm.”

 

Lucifer turns to Chloe, who stand silently behind him. She stares as if deep in thought still.

 

“Detective, could you perhaps lead me to Daniel’s home?”

 

Chloe looks at him, a haze behind her eyes.

 

“Dan?” she asks, a clarity coming back to them, “wait, what about Dan?”

 

Lucifer turns to Maze, who shrugs at him. Again, suggesting Chloe was his responsibility.

 

He turns back to Chloe and changes his stance as if preparing to tell her bad news; She notices.

 

“It appears as though our attempt to keep Daniel from being a messenger may have been ... foiled due to a glaring oversight. Now, I don’t have proof but … before we take any action, we need to make sure  we know what we are dealing with.”

 

She shakes his head, “He was just stressed out after the whole Charlotte thing,” she says, “You know, people grieve in different …”

 

She pauses, remembering what Lucifer told her he did.

 

He nods, recognizing her recognition, “He shouldn’t remember who Charlotte is, Detective.”

 

She slowly nods and crosses her arms, “So, what does that mean? What … what is happening to him?”

 

Lucifer places his hands in his pockets, “If we don’t get to him before the door we shut reopens, then …”

 

He pauses. How can he say this?

 

“Then what?” she asks, stepping towards him; needing to know.

 

“The mortal mind isn’t prepared to be brute-forced in such a way, Detective. If that door re-opens, he will go back to being a messenger whenever called. But in his waking life, his non-messenger life … he will lose touch with reality completely. You know those characters wearing tin foil hats and shouting curses at the sky?”

 

“Yeah,” Chloe says.

 

“Well it isn’t the sky they are cursing, now is it?”

 

Her eyes fall to the ground as she thinks of what that may mean.

 

 “Great,” Maze says, “Can I go back on the hunt now?”

 

They both turn to her.

 

“Please find him,” Chloe says.

 

Maze nods.

 

“It’s what I do best,” Maze says as she turns to leave.

 

“Detective,” Lucifer says.

 

Her eyes move up to him.

 

“I need that address.”

 

She nods, “Okay, but I’m coming with you.”

\--

 

Inside the lobby of a dingy motel, a man with a dirty tank sits watching a crisp and clean flat-screen TV. He laughs to himself as the program goes to commercial and the bell above the lobby door opens. He turns to see a sleep-deprived Dan walk in, dragging an old suitcase behind him. He looks him up and down and sighs as he stands up and approaches the counter.

 

“How can I help you?” he asks, the tone in his voice already annoyed by Dan’s presence.

 

“Do you have any rooms?” he asks.

 

The man looks at him then turns to a nearby pegboard where a lone key hangs from its loop.

He grabs it and sets it on the counter in front of him.

 

“It’s $45 a night, but we hold $75. You break anything we keep the full amount. You leave anything that requires cleaning, we keep the full amount.”

 

Dan looks at him oddly, “Cleaning?”

 

“You’d be surprised what people do with their feces,” he says.

 

Dan shakes his head and reaches into his wallet to pull out a card. He hands it to the man.

 

“How many nights you want?” he asks.

 

“Just one,” he says.

 

The man nods and swipes the card. Dan looks around the lobby for a moment before turning back to him. It is then he notices just how closely the man is watching him. He isn’t sure if he is paranoid or …

 

 

He turns to the glass door he came from and catches the faintest visual of his reflection in the mirror. He looks like utter shit. The bags beneath his eyes are deep and blue. His skin is pale, and it looks like he hasn’t eaten in days. He looks like walking death. He turns back to the man and sighs.

 

“You alright chief?” the man says, noticing the way he is looking.

 

Dan looks up at him, a sadness permanently stuck behind his eyes. It disappears for a moment, and suddenly he is happy like something dawned on him.

 

He smiles and nods, “Yeah, actually. I think … I think I’m going to be alright.”

 

The man looks at him then turns to the machine as it spits out a receipt.

 

“Sign here,” he says.

 

Dan reaches forward and manages to scribble his name onto the paper. The man hands him back his card.

 

“Thanks, “Dan says.

 

“Checkout is at 10:00 a.m.,” he says, “any longer and –“

 

“You’ll keep my money. I got it,” he says, grabbing his bag and heading out the glass lobby door.

 

The man watches him for a moment before reaching below the counter and flipping a switch. He then turns back to the TV right as his show comes back from commercial.

 

Outside, the “No Vacancy” sign lights up just as Dan is walking down the walkway towards his room. This was a decidedly better place than the last to do what he intends on doing. The rooms open directly into the parking lot, and the doors are worn from years of rain and wind.

 

Dan approaches his room, number 7. He pauses for a moment, looking at the door as if second-guessing himself. He turns back to the parking lot, wondering where he would go from here if he just left. He closes his eyes. He’s always been resolute in his decisions, he thinks, and logically this is the only way to make it stop.

 

No one would believe him, no one would be able to help him. They would lock him up in a home and dose him with meds, but that wouldn’t make it stop. It would only make him unable to fight back.

 

He sighs and swings open the door to his motel room and stands inside the doorway. He glances around as if looking for something – anything – that will jump out at him. Slowly he steps into the room, looks behind him cautiously, then shuts the door behind him. He then locks every just one lock on the door, just in case he needed to run.

 

He turns to the light switch near the wall and flicks it on, illuminating the room as best it can with these cheap halogen lights.

 

He sets his bag down on the bed and sits next to it. He slides his feet out of his shoes and sighs. He sits there in silence for a moment, his eyes closed as if deep in thought. When he opens his eyes, he turns his gaze towards his suitcase.

 

It sits on his bed, still zipped up. He watches it for a moment, his mind locked onto it as if running a thought through his head.

 

He reaches forward and unzips it, revealing the old revolver sitting neatly on a pile of crumpled and dirty clothes. He sits back and stares at it, working up the nerve to touch it. This wasn’t just any gun, it was the last one he would ever touch.

 

\--

 

Inside the quiet and darkened interior of Dan’s apartment, all is silent. It would seem peaceful if it weren’t for the faint sound of flies buzzing and a faucet dripping water into the kitchen sink.

 

Suddenly, the front door is kicked open and drops flat on its back in front of the doorway. A tall and determined Lucifer stands behind it. Behind him, Chloe stand, her arms crossed.

 

“Lucifer!” she screams, reprimanding him for breaking the door down. Dan is going to lose his security deposit.

 

Lucifer enters, stepping over the door, and peers around. Despite the door having been locked, the apartment looks complete ransacked. The refrigerator door is open, and spoiled milk has long since spilled its contents onto the ground. Nearby, flies attack week old fruit above the remnants of shattered plates.

 

Chloe uncrosses her arms and brings her hands up to her nose.

 

“Oh my God, what is that smell?” she says.

 

Lucifer looks around as if searching for something.

 

“Normally, Darling, I’d chastise you for using that name in my presence but in this instance …”

 

He turns his eyes to the coffee table where four empty beer bottles lay sprawled out on its face. Dan was drinking.

 

Lucifer leans down and picks up a bottle that seems as though It has liquid still in it.

 

“I think it’s a fair assessment of who is to blame,” he finishes just as he brings the bottle to his nose.

 

He recoils as a strong ammonia smell hits him; It’s stale urine.

 

He sets the bottle back down on the table, careful not to spill its contents and wipes his hands on his pants.

 

“Detective,” he says, continuing through the living area and walking around the sofa, “I don’t know which parts of this are the effects of a celestial hack and which ones are just … Daniel.”

 

Chloe brings her sleeve up to her nose and breathes into it.

 

“This isn’t Dan,” she says, “believe it or not, he was the clean one in our relationship.”

 

Lucifer pauses and turns to her.

 

“Huh,” he says as if that tidbit was more interesting than she had intended it to be.

 

“So you’re a bit of a lay-about?” he asks.

 

She leans her weight on one leg, slightly annoyed by that question.

 

“No,” she says, “I just … I had other things to focus on. You know, he was hardly ever home so I had to get Trixie fed, cleaned and to bed while still working and … you know, I figured the least he could do is do the dishes. Sometimes you have to pick your battles.”

 

Lucifer continues walking and looking around until he reaches the doorway of the bedroom.

 

“And dishes were one of those battles?” he asks.

 

She rolls her eyes and smiles, “No. Listen, I don’t have to defend myself okay? Life changes when you have a child. When you have kids, you’ll see. ”

 

He pauses and turns to her, his attention purely on her now. His eyebrows furrow as if he’s just heard the most offensive thing ever. She laughs at his reaction.

 

“I most certainly will not,” he says, offended.

 

She chuckles and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. He watches her, his eyes briefly dropping down her frame.

 

“Besides,” he says, turning back towards the bedroom, “I’d have to actually be having sex to have spawn. At least I’m pretty sure that’s how it works.”

 

He disappears into the bedroom, and Chloe’s smile falls. She turns behind her to see the open - and doorless - doorway. The way he said that was … angry. Was he upset with her because they weren’t …

 

“Hey, uhm, listen … Lucifer,” she says, walking around the couch on her way to the bedroom, “I hope that you don’t feel as if us not … you know, _‘doing it’_ yet, means I don’t have those feelings for you.”

 

She crosses to the bedroom door and sees Lucifer standing with his back towards her.

 

“Because the truth is … I do. I do have those feelings. I mean … I think about it all the time,” she says, biting her lip as her eyes roam down his backside.

 

“I just …you know, sex for you is easy and comes naturally. I mean, not saying it isn’t natural because it is but … I just don’t want to be another one of your girls. You know, you have a reputation and … I just don’t know.”

 

She pauses and watches him. He’s staring at something in his hand.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks.

 

He slowly turns to her, and red fiery anger burning just behind his eyes. Her eyes drop down to the object in his hand. It’s a framed photo of Daniel and Charlotte. The glass is cracked on Charlotte’s face, with a small bloodstain in the middle. Her eyes roll up back to him.

 

“It seems we have a much larger problem than our lack of intimacy, Detective.”

 

She steps forward and grabs the frame from him. She looks over it for a second.

 

“Amenadiel had one job. _One job,_ and he couldn’t even do that correctly,” Lucifer says, a heat developing around his neck.

 

He unbuttons his jacket and slides it off, revealing his naked torso. A familiar heat cascading over his body.

 

Chloe still stares at the picture. Was this it? Was this all it took to undo what Amenadiel done? She shakes her head.

 

“Lucifer are you sure?” she says, turning to him.

 

She pauses as he leans up against the dresser, the skin on his chest, slowly turning scorched and red. She slowly lowers the picture frame and sets it on the nearby bed.

 

He stares off into the distance, a boiling anger just behind his eyes.

 

Amenadiel had spent all this time chauffeuring Lucifer to hell when he wanted just a little reprieve from demons and hellfire. Then, when he realized he was no match, he spent all his time circumventing Lucifer’s plans. It was very apparent that even now he would do anything Father said, without question. He supposes that is why Amenadiel was the favorite.

 

He would do _anything_ Father demanded of him. Yet the _one thing_ Lucifer had asked him to do, he couldn’t. He had made a promise to Daniel, and Amenadiel _made_ him break it. The Devil never breaks his promises. What if this was Father’s request? Amenadiel had gone back to the Silvery City willingly. What if Father had told him to let Daniel fester like a wound.

 

“Lucifer?” Chloe says, approaching him.

 

He looks up at her, his devil face in full view.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, placing a hand on his shoulder, “We will figure it out.”

 

“it’s not okay detective,” he says, “I told Daniel it would be sorted, and it very much is not.”

 

Lucifer pushes himself off the dresser, his height towering over her. She backs up slightly as he approaches, an untamable anger behind his eyes.

 

“I asked Amenadiel to do one thing. _One thing_.”

 

“I’m sure it is an honest mistake,” she says, attempting to calm him down.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “An honest mistake?” he says, his eyes twitching as his devil face burns itself into existence.

 

“No … no he did this on purpose,” he says, speaking through his teeth, “He is always trying to ruin my plans. He is always trying to make me look like a fool.”

 

Chloe’s heart thumps through her chest as she slowly backs up. She has no question he would never hurt her. Still, the thought can’t help but cross her mind.

 

“Lucifer, calm down,” she says, raising her hands in front of her.

 

He shakes his head, “I can’t calm down, Detective. Father is always trying to ruin my life, and I’m sick of it. I’m tired. I’m annoyed. I’m … I’m _angry_.”

 

“Lucifer,” she says, her voice soft and placating despite It being laden with nerves and fear, “he just … maybe Amenadiel just forgot? Okay? We can still help Dan. We just have to … we have to figure something out. You can fix this.”

 

He looks at her his eyes narrowing.

 

“You always figure something out,” she says.

 

His eyes soften slightly as they turn to the side, his mind thinking. What if she was right? He hadn’t known her to be wrong about much so far. There would be much time to punish Amenadiel, he could wait. Being angry at him now didn’t help Daniel, and if there was a chance … if there was a way … _was there another way to help Daniel?_

She approaches him cautiously and lays a hand on his arm again. He turns to her and catches her eyes.

 

“Okay?” she says softly, “We can figure something out.”

 

The fire in his eyes slowly dies. He looks at her, her eyes ping-ponging back and forth between his as if searching. He didn’t want to leave her searching for long.

 

“Okay,” he says reluctantly, not sure if he could do anything. Still, he was willing to try for her.

 

Slowly, piece by piece, sections of his skin begin to turn pink and supple. His hair pops back onto his head as he turns it away from her. She lets go a small smile as the red and fiery skin dissipates and she’s just left with regular Lucifer. Regular, pink, and incredibly fit Lucifer.

 

Her eyes drop down to his torso, then trail down to his abdomen.

 

“Okay,” she says with a small smile as she looks back to him, her shoulders relaxed again despite the butterflies in her stomach still fluttering; her body flooded with adrenaline.

 

Lucifer turns back to the photo and picks it up. He stares at it as if studying it; studying him and her; Daniel and Charlotte. Daniel would be a messenger no matter what with Charlotte as his trigger.

 

He understands that part, at least. If Chloe were a trigger for him, he would never let her memory go so easily. It was clear blocking the messages wouldn’t work.

 

He could break what is left of that seal to keep his mind intact? Daniel would return to normal, except in the instances where he was called by the silver city.

 

Blocking out the message wasn’t enough. They were piling up. Even if it hadn’t been soon, even without Amenadiel’s … _sabotage_ , Daniel would have eventually reached this point.

 

His head tilts as he looks at the photo.

 

But what if …

 

 _What if he could prevent the messages from ever coming?_ What if he could place Daniel on a no-call list of sorts.

 

His eyes narrow, and he turns to Chloe to find her smiling.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

“You have an idea, don’t you,” she says.

 

“Well, I –.”

 

Chloe’s phone rings in her pocket, and they both turn to it. She reaches into her pockets and pulls it out only to see the name on the caller ID; It’s Dan.

 

Chloe looks up at Lucifer in shock then answers the phone.

 

“Dan?” she asks.

 

“Chloe,” a thin and croaky voice on the other line answer. There is a brief moment of silence.

 

“It’s … it’s so good to hear your voice again,” he says.

 

“It’s good to hear yours too,” she says.

 

“I’m sorry I missed your calls I was just … I was busy, you know?”

 

She lets go a soft smile and sits on the bed, “Yeah, I get it. Life.” She says, laughing.

 

Silence.

 

“When are you coming off leave? Trixie would love to see you.”

 

Silence.

 

“Dan?” she asks, “are you th–“

 

“I uhm … I might be gone for a little while longer,” he says, sniffling, “I uhm … I just, I need a little more time.”

 

She nods, “Are you okay?” she asks, “you sound like you’re crying.”

 

“I just … it’s been hard, Chloe _. Real Hard_.”

 

She nods, a sadness developing in her voice. Lucifer hears it and watches her intently.

 

“I know,” she says, “but you know if you ever need anything I’m here for you, right? We are here for you. Whatever you need, we can help.”

 

Dan laughs in disbelief, “No, you can’t. No one can.” He says.

 

“Dan ..,” she begins.

 

“But that’s okay,” he says, the tone in his voice changing, “it’s … It’s all going to be okay.”

 

“Dan,” she says, “why don’t you just stop by later? Trixie has been dying to see you and well … maybe you could use a little company.”

 

There is silence on the other line.

 

“I’m sorry, Chloe,” he says, “but … I think I need to be alone.”

 

She closes her eyes and sighs.

 

“Dan …,” she says again.

 

“Honestly, Chloe. It’s okay. I’ll be fine. I just … I need more time.”

 

“More time for what?” she asks, the volume of her voice rising, “You’ve been gone for almost two weeks. You know how many times Trixie has asked about you? What am I supposed to tell her?”

 

_Silence._

 

Chloe scoffs then sighs. She didn’t mean to yell at him, she was just … frustrated with it all.

 

“Tell her I’m sorry,” he says.

 

Chloe pauses.

 

“Sorry for what?” she asks.

 

“Just tell her. Just tell her that daddy always loved her, okay?”

 

Chloe pauses, her brain goes to the worst thing she can think of, and her eyes start to tear.

 

“If you stop by, you can tell her yourself,” she says.

 

“Please,” Dan says, “Just … just tell her it wasn’t her fault, alright? That daddy always loved her and …you and … it’s _no one’s_ fault, okay?”

 

“Dan, what are you talking about?” she says, tears starting to flow down her face, “Dan just … where are you right now? Okay? I’ll come get you, and we can talk, and it’ll be fine.”

 

“Just tell her Chloe,” he barks, “Just make sure you tell her.”

 

“Dan, where are you?” she asks, standing up, the adrenaline feeding back into her system, “Where are you _right_ now?”

 

“Tell her Chloe,” he says, a sudden strength in his voice as if he were trying to get across the importance of his message.

 

The line goes silent.

 

“Dan? Hello?” she says, panic in her voice. She hangs up and begins to redial the number. It rings and rings but no response.

 

Lucifer places the framed photo onto the bed and watches her, a sadness in his heart. He did this. This was _his fault_. He should have made sure those photos were gone. He had yet again put trust into one of his brothers, and they had yet again failed him. He had allowed himself to be naïve, and stupid and … he shouldn’t have broken his promise.

 

Chloe dials a number and stands up, running hurriedly through the bedroom door into the living room.

 

“Yes, this is Detective Chloe Decker,” she says, “I need to put out an APB on a Daniel Espinoza.”

 

Lucifer slowly walks to the bedroom door, his posture slouched and defeated. Chloe turns to the bedroom doorway to see Lucifer standing there, his eyes cast downward. She gestures towards him to follow her as the phone is plastered to her ears.

 

“Go,” he says solemnly, his eyes drifting to her to reveal they are a bright cyan blue, “There is something I must do.”

 

She pauses and looks over him as if deciding on whether to go or stay.

 

“ _Go_ ,” he says again, making the decision for her.

 

She turns reluctantly and runs towards the open doorway.

 

“Yes, his license plate number is …,” she says as she turns the doorway and disappears.

 

Lucifer’s eyes slowly drift upwards until they are watching the ceiling. Except, he’s not looking at the ceiling he’s looking past that.

 

If he were going to keep Daniel from ever receiving messages, blocking them was a good temporary fix, but he needed something more concrete; more permanent. Something a simple photo couldn’t break. Something he could guarantee would work. Something he would see to personally this time.

 

He needed to speak directly with the source.

He needed to speak with Iridius; _In person._

 

His jaws clench, and his fists ball as his wings spread wide. He pauses for a moment, not sure if he wants to do this. He turns his eyes back to the bed where he had gently laid the image of Dan and Charlotte. It was only right, he thinks. He made a promise and he _never_ broke his promises, otherwise, what kind of devil would he be? He turns back to the ceiling and jumps straight up, disappearing into thin air.

 

\--

 

Inside his hotel room, Dan hangs up the phone. He sits there for a second, tears in his eyes before the phone rings again. He turns to it; it’s Chloe.

 

Chloe wasn’t stupid, he thinks, she picked up one what he was going to do. He only had a short window of time before every cop in the city would be outside his hotel.

 

Maybe he wanted to be found, he thinks. Maybe he wanted to be helped; _to be saved._

 

But what was there left to save? He couldn’t go on like this. He could barely sleep or eat or even piss. He was most vulnerable when he had to do all of those things. He couldn’t live like this anymore, he _wouldn’t_ live like this anymore.

 

He turns to the suitcase next to him and sees the gun sitting on top of his clothing. He sighs and reaches out to grab it. It feels heavier than he recalls, but it was an old gun. He bounces it in his hands for a second before turning it and opening the cylinder to reveal the three bullets still in their chambers.

 

He pauses, trying to come to a conclusion. _Was this the only way?_

 

Suddenly the A.C. kicks off, and he turns to it, a cold and familiar fear climbing up his spine. The A.C. growls to a stop before silently creaking, the metal box beginning to heat up.

 

His heartbeat quickens.

 

“Daniel,” a cacophony of voices whispers.

 

It sounds like it's coming from everywhere in the room. He closes his eyes tight and slams the cylinder back into the gun before pulling the hammer and loading a bullet into the chamber.

 

“Daniel,” he hears again.

 

He risks opening his eyes only to see a being now standing in the corner of his room, near the bathroom with its back facing him.

 

His hands shake with fear, and he risks a glance towards the door. If he could run, maybe he didn’t have to –

 

A chill solidifies in every single vein in his body.

 

 _There is no door_.

 

Where the door was, there was just a wall now.

 

  _There was no escape_.

 

His eyes widen in horror. Wasn’t there a door there before? How did …

 

His eyes turn back to the being. Slowly, its head begins to turn. Daniel’s heart begins to beat out of his chest. Its face turns until he sees an endless array of stars and nebula where facial features should be.

 

He closes his eyes quickly and puts the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

 

“Daniel,” it whispers.

 

“No!” he screams, his words muffled by the metal tube.

 

With slight hesitation, he pulls the trigger, and nothing happens. He panics and tilts the gun, trying to get a firmer pull on the trigger. It fires prematurely and sends a hot bullet directly into his mouth and out the back of his throat. Instantly his body falls limp back onto the bed as blood splatters on the sheets and the back half of the wall. He lays there, seemingly dead, as blood begins to pool on the sheets beneath him.

 

The hotel room is now still, and the being is suddenly nowhere to be seen.

 

The bullet sits embedded into the hardwood of the headboard. All seems still and quiet until slowly, the edges of the bullet begin to glow a bright red. A thin, pale blue and wispy fog develops over his body. It swirls like the liquid in a cauldron and begins to spiral into a thin tube that leads directly into the bullet. It pulls on itself like the edge of warm taffy, and the bullet absorbs all of it, getting larger and larger until it falls out of the headboard and lands onto the pillow. It no longer looks like a bullet, but a metal tube filled with an icy blue fog.

 

It sits there momentarily before slowly both the tube and the gun dissipate into thin air.

 

The hotel room dives back into stillness and silence. Suddenly the A.C. kicks back on and sends a blast of cool air into the room.

 

Daniel lays on the bed, blood pouring onto the sheets below him, his body still.

 

Suddenly, loud footsteps can be heard clapping on the pavement just outside his hotel room. They are loud and heavy, almost like … boots?

 

In a loud crash, the door to the room bursts open as Maze leans her entire body weight against it. It is locked, but a single lock isn’t enough to keep her out. She bursts into the room and catches herself just as she is about to hit the nearby table.

 

She turns and pauses as she sees the entire back wall painted in blood. Her eyes drift down to Dan, who lays still against a blood-soaked - yet tropical – bedspread.

 

She shakes her head.

 

“You fucking moron,” she growls as she approaches him and grabs him by his shirt collar.

 

She attempts to sit him up, but his limbs and neck go limp. She watches him for a moment before dumping him back on the bed.

 

She shoves her two fingers against jugular to check for a pulse, then pauses as she waits. She feels a pulse, it’s weak, but it’s still there.

 

She sighs and pulls out her phone.

 

“911, what’s your emergency?” a voice says on the other line.

 

“Yeah I’m going to need some healers here,” she says, turning back to Dan “like … right now.”

 

\--

 

Back in the alleyway, Jeremy, the crossroads demon, leans against the brick wall. The pile of ash at his feet is substantially taller now as he pulls another cigarette out of his pocket and lights it.

 

He takes a long drag, taking joy in the heat that starts to fill his lungs. He closes his eyes as if enjoying every moment of it. His eyes open just as a red light shines through the cracks in the brick behind him.

 

He raises an eyebrow and exhales the smoke. He turns and claws the brick from its hole, revealing the open cavity behind it where a gun and a metal tube filled with a pale blue fog now sit.

 

He reaches in with one hand and grabs the gun before pulling it out. In a flick of the wrist, he pops the cylinder open to reveal two bullets inside the chamber.

 

"Huh," he says to himself, "that was quick. Hadn't expected you back for a few hours."

 

Pleased, he sticks the gun back into the cavity and replaces the brick. Then, he turns and leans back up against the wall and takes another drag on his cigarette.

 

Today was a productive day.


	12. The Prodigal Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe visits Dan in the Hospital, Maze struggles with a strange new feeling, Lieutenant Edwards has a secret life, Linda and Trixie have a sleepover, Ella tries to make friends with the Lieutenant and Lucifer pays a visit to the Silver City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My usual statement of being late to post because work is continuing to be a bitch to me. My apologies. This chapter is twice as long as the others for this particular reason, but also there is a lot of things to cover. Thanks for sticking in there with me.

 

The waiting room of the hospital is a contradiction as it is both still and chaotic at the same time. In one corner, a man applies pressure to a knife wound on his arm while thumbing through his phone. Opposite him, a woman coughs into a handkerchief before wiping a drip from her nose.

 

Chloe sits between them, her eyes staring forward in shock. She is both aware of everything around her and unaware; her eyes glazed over in deep distress.

 

Maze sits nearby. Her eyes scan the room, not with curiosity or disgust but with a blank expression as if she’s seen this sight before; the sight of humans in various forms of mortality waiting for an opportunity to be fixed. Only here, they stand a chance at it.

 

 

Her eyes turn to Chloe, and her expression changes from disinterest to slight concern. She wants to say something, but she doesn’t know what to say.

 

She knows, in this instance, it would be appropriate to offer words of encouragement, but … what could she say to make Chloe feel better?

 

Furthermore, why did she care so much? Of all the humans she’s come to know, Dan was her _least_ favorite. Yet … here she was, hoping – perhaps even praying – he would be okay. It leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

 

“I uhm,” she says, smacking her lips trying to get that taste out of her mouth, “I told them he got hit by a rogue bullet,” she says.

 

Chloe turns her eyes up and looks to her, a slight expression of confusion.

 

“The wounds won’t match,” Chloe says, her voice doing nothing to hide her sadness and confusion, “they’re doctors. They will know the difference.”

 

Maze shrugs, “I was just trying to help. You know, so they didn’t think he did it to himself,” she continues.

 

Chloe pauses, her eyes drop back into sadness, “but _he did_ ,” she says softly.

 

She turns her head back forward, going back into that place in her mind where she tried to make sense of it all.

 

_What if he doesn’t make it?_

 

She questions every path she had walked since their separation; since their divorce. If she had been there for him, if she had given him the benefit of time, would he even be here?

 

She had spent _so much time_ chasing Lucifer and trying to deal with his world-ending problems. She had kicked herself so much when she came out on the other side and realized she had ignored Trixie.

 

She was kicking herself now for ignoring Dan. He had been through the same as, if not _more_ than her, and she had only one thing on her mind; Lucifer.

 

Had Lucifer made her selfish? Or had she been selfish all along?

 

She shakes her head and reaches up to wipe a lone tear from her eye. She doesn’t know if she could forgive herself. Will Dan forgive her? What if he doesn’t survive this? What will she say to Trixie?

 

She remembers what it was like, hearing that her own father had died. It was hard for her, and she was barely an adult then. Trixie was still a child.

 

 

Chloe shakes her head. She leans forward and places both her hands on her face, wanting to hide from it all, wanting to not _think_ about it at all.

 

“Daniel Espinoza?” a voice from nearby says. Chloe looks up to find a woman in teal scrubs with a clipboard in her hand.

 

She stands up and nervously hurries over to her, crossing her arms. Maze approaches beside her. The woman makes eye contact with her, then Maze and nods.

 

“Follow me,” she says.

 

Chloe follows her down winding hallway after winding hallway. The woman approaches a set of double doors marked “Trauma Unit Three” and swipes her card before pressing a button. The doors swing open, and the nurse escorts them past a large desk where nurses are gathered.

 

A few manage phone calls while others sift through files and even more stand nearby, cutting a birthday cake.

 

The thought crosses her mind that this is the day someone was born. _What if this was the day Dan dies?_

“Have a seat here, the Doctor will be with you soon,” the nurse says.

 

Chloe turns back to the nurse and is met with a sympathetic smile. Chloe nods, crosses her arms and moves to sit in the empty waiting room. Maze joins her in a seat nearby. The nurse closes the sliding door behind her as she leaves, and Chloe looks around.

 

This room was still too. Beyond the glass window, she could again see the bustle of nurses who go about their day like it was any other day. Some nurses answer phones and sort through files, while others stand together, eating cake and smiling. Her eyes drop to the floor.

 

She _was_ selfish. Dan had gone through just as much trauma and she should have seen the signs. He wasn’t returning her phone calls, he hadn’t been in his apartment for some time.

 

She leans forward in her chair and covers her face with her hands. She shakes her head.

 

She was going through things too, but at least she had Linda to help her cope. And when Lucifer returned, he had made things difficult, but … but at least she could talk to him now. At least he listened.

 

Who did Dan have? With Charlotte gone and her preoccupied, who did he have?

 

The door slides open, and she looks up to see a middle-aged doctor in a white coat step in. He closes the door behind him.

 

She stands up and wipes her tears as he holds out his hand for her to shake.

 

“My name is Doctor Lee Brusata,” he says.

 

She reaches out and shakes his hand.

 

“Chloe Decker,” she says, “I’m … I’m Dan’s ex-wife.”

 

Dr. Brusata nods and turns to Maze. Maze just stares at him without offering up who she is. “She’s a family friend,” Chloe says, jumping in. He nods and motions for Chloe to have a seat.

 

She slowly sits back down as he moves to sit beside her.

 

He gets comfortable as he crosses his legs.

 

“Daniel got out of surgery about an hour ago. We managed to get the bleeding under control, but … there is quite a bit of severe damage to his spinal column. Luckily the bullet missed his brain, but ..”

 

“Is it bad?” she asks, her eyes tearing up again.

 

He pauses for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to say this.

 

“Despite us being told his injuries were accidental in nature, they are consistent with a self-inflicted wound. I don’t want to overwhelm you with information as it’s quite frankly too soon to know which way this will go. But … let me tell you what the next 24 hours will hold. The bullet damaged quite a few vertebrae in his neck. Now, luckily, it didn’t completely sever his spinal cord, but the inflammation has cut off most impulses past his esophagus, meaning he’s currently hooked up to a life support system. If he survives the night and the inflammation goes down enough, there is a very likely chance we might be looking at a severe loss of motor function.”

 

Chloe closes her eyes and tries to steady her breath. She nods slowly and swallows.

 

“So … he’s paralyzed?” she asks.

 

The doctor nods, “The inflammation may go down, and we might see some movement coming back but, and I want to be clear about this … _if_ he survives, there is a long road ahead of rehabilitation. I’ll also be recommending a psych evaluation due to the nature of his wounds.”

 

Chloe nods as she brings her hand up to her mouth, trying hard to hold in the impending vomit. She breathes and slowly stands up.

 

“Are you okay?” Maze asks as Chloe paces.

 

“I just … give me a second I need to …move my body,” she says, shaking her hands as they start to tingle.”

 

Suddenly she pauses and turns to the Doctor.

 

“Can I see him?” she asks. The Doctor looks at Maze, then back to Chloe, and nods.

 

“I do want to warn you he’s currently hooked up to a machine that is breathing for him. Are you … prepared for that?

 

She half-heartedly nods, and he stands up. He approaches the door and opens it before beckoning her out. She exits the waiting room, followed closely by Maze.

 

They walk a few feet down the hallway to a closed door. The Doctor turns to her, opens his mouth to say something, but decides against it.

 

“Are you ready?” he asks as if once again preparing her for the worst. She nods reluctantly. He opens the door and ushers her in.

 

She steps in and immediately sees Dan lying still on the hospital bed. The machines that are hooked up to him beep steadily. He has cloth around his mouth that keeps the tube in his throat in place and the brace around his neck only emphasizes his motionlessness.

 

She gasps and brings her shaky hands up to her mouth as she walks in. This was real. It wasn’t some sick practical joke or weird nightmare that she could wake up from, and suddenly, everything would be okay. _It was real._

 

She starts to choke up as she approaches him. She reaches her hand out to his arm and grabs it, her other hand immediately going to his hair as she brushes it back. Her eyes swell with tears, and she reaches up to wipe them away, but it’s too late, her vision is blurry.

 

“We still have a way to go, but like I said, “the Doctor speaks up as he moves to the other side of the bed, his hands in his pockets, “If he makes it through this first 24 hours then … we might need to discuss options for mobility and quality of life.”

 

She looks down at Dan, her eyes filled with regret and remorse like she had done this to him. Maybe she did. Perhaps if she hadn’t ignored him, if she hadn’t been so preoccupied with her own life, she might have clued into what was going on with him.

 

Maze stands nearby, watching Chloe. She turns her eyes to Dan. She wishes she could feel something for him, anything. But she stands there, suddenly finding herself very uncomfortable with her lack of emotion. It used to be a shelter for her, now it started to feel like a burden. It made her better and stronger than her mortal counterparts but being here – in the mortal world – it made her different. It was the kind of different she didn’t like.

 

“I know this is difficult,” the Doctor continues, “and if you’d like to spend the evening getting your affairs in order, I understand. It’s very much a waiting game at this point, so there is no real need to be-“

 

“No, I’m staying,” Chloe says without hesitation, “I’ve already gotten someone who can look after my daughter.”

 

The doctor nods, “I’ll leave you alone for a moment,” he says as he turns and leaves the room.

 

Maze’s ears perk up, and she turns to Chloe. Her mind switches gears, and she is reminded of Trixie. The whole reason she went on this insane trek to find Daniel in the first place.

 

It wasn’t about him, she felt nothing for him but … Trixie. It crosses her mind that if Daniel didn’t make it, she would have to face Trixie. Except this time, it wasn’t a theory or a preventative measure; it was real.  Trixie would be sad and not like the temper tantrum sad or something easily fixed with chocolate cake. It was the _big_ sad and there was nothing Maze could do about it.

 

A pit of despair forms deep inside her chest.

 

This whole time, when she thought this was about Daniel and his stupid decision, she couldn’t feel pity for him. He was always her least favorite of the humans, but … this was never _really_ about him. This was about a child; a human child. She was full of joy, fear, concern, curiosity, and … emotion. Why did she want to protect that when it was everything she considered to be wrong with humans?

 

The pit swells further inside of her chest, and it starts to hurt. Not physical pain, not a pain she is familiar with but …its dull and aches and reminds her of heartbreak. Her eyes begin to swell with tears.

 

No, she wasn’t angry or even sad. She was sad for Trixie. She imagines the look on her face if Daniel doesn’t make it. She imagines the life she would have without her father. Maze didn’t really have a parental figure. In fact, she made no secret she considered human spawn as weak.

 

She had slowly tried to make Trixie stronger – even with Chloe interfering. But somehow even she can’t conceive a way in which this would be a good thing.

 

The feeling inside her swells until she can’t contain it, and tears begin to fall down her face. It chokes her up, and she audibly coughs. Chloe turns to Maze and sees the tears coming down her face. It doesn’t feel good, Maze thinks, but at the same time, it does; it’s a strange pairing of feelings.

 

Chloe lets go an empathic smile and approaches her. She rubs Maze’s arm before bringing her in for a hug. Maze looks extremely confused. She _hates_ this, she thinks, even as her arms come up and wrap around Chloe.

 

“It’s alright,” she says, “We’ll get through this.”

 

“What the _fuck_ is going on?” she says, anger in her confusion.

 

Chloe pulls away and looks into Maze’s eyes. She sees the confusion there and mistakes it for something else.

 

A nurse knocks on the open door and comes in, a sympathetic look on her face.

 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we can only have one family member after visiting hours are over.”

 

Chloe nods and turns back to Maze.

 

“Get some rest,” she says to Maze.

 

“What if someone –“

 

Chloe interrupts her, “I’ll be fine here.”

 

Maze looks at her and nods. She turns, still confused about what is happening, and slowly walks to the door.

 

“and Maze?” Chloe says.

 

Maze turns back to her.

 

“Thank You,” she says.

 

Maze nods and turns, exiting the room.

 

“I’ll be right outside if you need me,” the nurse says.

 

Chloe nods.

 

The nurse tosses a small smile her way before gently closing the door.

 

Chloe goes back to Daniel’s bedside and rests her hand on his arm again.

 

“We can get through this,” she whispers as she goes back to stroking his hair, “We _have_ to.”

 

\--

 

Inside Linda Martin’s home, it is dark and still. The light on her back deck is on and shines through the curtains of her sliding glass door. Furniture can be made out in the dim light and save for the sound of crickets outside the apartment is quiet.

 

Suddenly, the sound of keys jingling is followed by the turning of the knob on the front door. The front door swings open, and Linda steps in before turning and flipping a light switch on the wall. A light clicks on above her that casts a dim light on the remainder of her home.

 

“Come on in,” she says with a smile.

 

Behind her, Trixie enters with a teddy bear tucked between her arm. She steps inside the door and turns as Bubbles filters in behind them, and Linda closes, then locks, the front door.

 

Bubbles immediately descends the steps into the living room.

 

Trixie watches as Linda locks the door then turns back to view the living room. Linda’s home is undeniably the home of an adult. Everything is decorated and put together as if it were from the catalog of a furniture store. Linda drops her keys in a cup by the door and descends a few steps into the living room where she flips a switch and fills the whole room with light.

 

She walks through the living room and sets her purse and her phone down on the coffee table before turning to see Bubbles sitting patiently at the backdoor.

 

She smiles and approaches it, before reaching up, unlocking it and pushing the sliding door open. Trixie plops down on the couch and slips the pink backpack off her back. Her eyes instinctively go to the phone on the coffee table. She turns behind her just as Bubbles happily bounces outside into the back yard, and Linda slides the door shut behind him.

 

“Are you excited as I am?” Linda says a feigned joy in her voice that Trixie picks up on, “We can do whatever you want. We can paint each other’s nails, eat ice cream and, oh! How about a scary movie?”

 

“Mommy doesn’t let me watch scary movies,” Trixie says.

 

Linda enters the kitchen and opens the freezer to pull out a pint of rocky road ice cream. She turns to Trixie with a smile before setting the pint on the counter.

 

“What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Linda says with a grin.

 

Trixie’s eyes fall down to the ice cream. She reads the label, and her eyes widen, a smile growing widely on her face.

 

“That’s my favorite!” she says as she pops up off the couch and scurries into the kitchen.

 

“Is it?” Linda asks, “It’s my favorite too!”

 

Linda opens a nearby drawer before pulling out two spoons. She slides the drawer closed and offers Trixie a spoon. Trixie takes it, and Linda reaches over to open the pint jar. She slides it over to Trixie.

 

“You first,” she says.

 

Trixie looks down at the pint then up at her.

 

“From the box?” she asks.

 

Linda nods and leans on the counter.

 

“It’s a sleepover, we can do whatever we want.”

 

Trixie smiles, then digs her spoon into the ice cream and scoops out a big spoonful.

 

Linda laughs, “Oh, that’s a good bite.”

 

Trixie starts to nibble on the edge of the spoon, melted ice cream getting all on her face. Linda looks on and smiles before pulling the carton her way and scraping a small spoonful. She pulls it up to her mouth and turns the spoon upside down as it enters. The ice cream lands directly on her tongue.

 

“Mmm,’ she hums.

 

“Mmm!” Trixie hums in return.

 

“Good, right?” Linda says, swallowing the now melted ice cream.

 

Trixie nods, still tackling her big spoonful.

 

Linda goes in for another one.

 

“Is mommy going to join us?” Trixie says before trying pinching off a good portion of the ice cream with her lips.

 

Linda shakes her head, “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow? She uhm … something came up that she had to take care of.”

 

Trixie hears her, but doesn’t respond, her mind too focused on the ice cream.

 

Linda half-heartedly scoops another small spoon of the ice cream before again placing it into her mouth. It’s okay, but this time it doesn’t taste as sweet. It seems to have dawned on her how this child’s life might be changed forever.

 

\--

 

It is early evening in the warehouse district near the pier, and despite it still being somewhat early, the sun has fallen and has made it just dark enough for Mistress Carmen. The streets are empty and lined with only a few cars. 

 

In the distance, the sound of honking cars and sirens can be heard, but here - except for a small breeze that blows trash down the street, it is quiet. In a car parked on the side of the road, a cabin light flicks on. Inside, Lieutenant Natalie Edwards rummages through her purse.

 

She seems calm yet eager to find what she is looking for. Suddenly she finds it and smiles.

She pulls out a lipstick tube and opens it to reveal a deep burgundy lipstick.

 

She winds the tube and flips down visor to reveal a clean mirror. She looks into it with glee as she applies the product to her lips, then purses them.

 

She closes the tube before slipping the lipstick into her purse. She then shoves the bag into the glove box compartment of her car. She turns to look out the window to a dark and seemingly unoccupied building.

 

She sits back in her chair and lets out a deep sigh before turning her eyes back to the open visor. She catches a glance of herself and locks eyes with the woman in the mirror. She stares forward for a moment, her mind deep in thought before a smile curls into the corner of her lips, and she reaches forward and snaps the visor closed.

 

With determination, she flings open the car door and steps her long black stiletto boots onto the pavement.

 

The dark grey trench coat she wears hikes up a little as she slips herself entirely from her car. It reveals fishnet stockings tucked beneath a short - and what could only be assumed as leather – dress.

 

She turns and leans into the car, grabbing a small leather medical bag from the passenger seat.

 

She shuts the door behind her and walks across the street. The air around her is electric and asks for – no, _demands_ – attention.

 

She crosses the street and slips down a stairwell on the side of the building. She is met with a single red door; above it, a single fluorescent light hums. Standing by the door, an intimidating man in a dark leather jacket turns to look at her. His eyes drift down her body before he turns and grabs the handle of the door.

 

He opens the door, inviting her in. She walks in without so much of a word and immediately enters a small room. One on side is a blank brick wall, and on the other side, a man sits behind a long coat check desk, except he isn’t checking coats. In front of her, two large men stand in front of two double doors.

 

“Good Evening Mistress,” the man behind the desk says, his eyes drifting down her body. She says nothing and continues to walk past him. He turns to watch her walk away, then goes back to his crossword puzzle.

 

As she approaches the doors, the two men reach out and open the doors for her. Again, she walks past without saying a word, almost as if expecting the respect. She then enters a long hallway with doors on either side.

 

She walks calmly past the rooms as the sounds of leather hitting skin echo throughout the halls.

 

 “Yes, Mistress,” a male voice says in both pain and glee.

 

She continues walking past more rooms.

 

“Did you do as I asked?” a female voice says.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” a male voice responds. It is filled with a pleasing combination of fear and adoration.

 

She continues walking until she reaches a juncture in the hallway. She turns left down the hall and approaches the first door on the right. She swings open the door.

 

Inside, a man in a leather harness turns to her and smiles.

 

“I was wondering when you would show up,” he says, reaching to take her bag. She hands it to him, then begins to slip off her trench coat.

 

“Have I ever been late?” she asks, a tone in her voice that he doesn’t expect.

 

“Whoa there tiger, I’m not a client,” he says jokingly.

 

She sighs, “Sorry, Elliot, I just … it’s been a long day. These _fucking idiots_ at work are stacking me up with paperwork and I … I need tonight.”

 

He laughs and sets the bag down on a nearby table. He opens it, reaches in, and pulls out a small wooden paddle. He turns just as she hands her coat out to him.

 

With her trench coat off, and the tiny small leather bustier visible, she slips into a different role. Her dress is extremely short, tight, and leaves very little to the imagination. Elliot doesn’t seem to mind, however, it’s almost as if he’s seen it many times before.

 

He looks at the coat, looks up at her, then takes his free hand to grab the coat while handing her the paddle with the other hand.

 

She takes it and begins to gently slap it in the center of her hand.

 

“They on to your weekend shenanigans yet?” he asks.

 

She looks at him and scoffs.

 

“I doubt it, but why should I care? Everyone has their little secrets. I’m not hurting anybody.”

 

“Unless they ask,” he says with a grin as he hangs her coat on a nearby hook.

 

She smiles back at him.

 

He turns to her bag and reaches in to pull out a short leather leash. He unravels it as he approaches her.

 

“Shall I get our first client?” he asks.

 

She turns to him and nods. He heads to the door, opens it, and closes it behind him, leaving her alone in the room.

 

She stands there, her stance powerful and dominant, the paddle poised in her hands and at the ready. With him gone, the room is still. Her mind starts to drift to her ex. It drifts to how happy her ex looked in photos posted online. She missed the way she smelled, and felt, and held her. She missed her, but they were clearly incompatible. Still …maybe they could have made it work? Maybe …

 

The door opens, and it knocks her out of that thought. She fixes her stance to be authoritative again and glances down as Elliot walks in with a man wearing a loose gray suit. He crawls on all floors like a dog, his head down to watch where he places his hands.  Once he is stopped, Elliot tightens the slack on the leash, and the man looks up at the woman standing in front of him. She looks down at the man who looks up at her pleased.

 

“Good evening, Mistress Carmen,” he says, “thank you for seeing me tonight.”

 

She looks at him and tilts her head, a look of disapproval on her face.

 

“Did I say you could speak?” she asks.

 

He looks at her and shakes his head, “No Mistress.”

 

“Then why are you still talking?” she says.

 

He doesn’t reply.

 

“Greet me appropriately,” she says.

 

He shuffles forward and lowers his face to kiss her boot. He plants several soft kisses on it sweetly, enjoying each one.

 

She smiles.

 

“Good,” she says, a loving tone to her voice.

 

She looks at Elliot and nods. He reaches down and unhooks the leash from around the man’s neck.

 

“Now stand up,” she says.

 

He obeys her orders and stands in front of her. Standing, he is much taller than her, and his features become more apparent. He’s middle-aged, with short and thin brown hair. His eyes are sunken into his face like he hasn’t gotten much sleep recently, but his face is clean and well-groomed.

 

“Take your jacket off and throw it onto the floor,” she says.

 

He obeys and reaches up to unbutton his suit jacket. Once he finishes unbuttoning it, he slips it off his arms and lets it drop to the floor. She looks at it, then at him.

 

“Do you want to get punished tonight?” she asks.

 

He doesn’t respond.

 

“You may speak,” she says, asking the question again, “Do you want to get punished tonight?’

 

“No, Mistress,” he says.

 

“Well, you keep doing the opposite of what I ask, and you will. I said _throw_ it, not drop it.”

 

He reaches down to pick it up, and she stops him, pressing the paddle in her hand gently against the bottom of his chin. 

 

“Uh, Uh. Too late,” she says.

 

He stands back up as she forcefully pulls him up with the paddle.

 

“Take off your shirt and pants and throw them across the room,” she says, “pants first.”

 

He reaches down, unbuttons his pants and lets it slide off his legs before throwing it across the room. Then he unbuttons his shirt, slides it off his arms, and tosses it across the room. He stands there, his slightly chubby body only covered with a purple and blue striped boxer brief and dirty black socks.

 

She nods in approval, then steps to the side.

 

“Approach and face the wall,” she says.

 

He approaches the wall, his back turned to her.

 

“Tie him up,” Natalie says to Elliot.

 

He nods and approaches the man. Elliot grabs the man’s wrists forcefully and raises it to a leather cuff bolted to the wall. There he slips the man’s wrist into the cuff and buckles them down.

 

Elliot goes to the other side and buckles the other wrist into the cuff as well. Then he stands back as Natalie approaches, the leather paddle in her hand.

 

“You may speak,” she starts with, “Do you know why you are being punished?”

 

“Because I did not greet you the correct way, Mistress,” he says.

 

“And?”

 

“Because I did not follow orders,”

 

“Because what?” she asks, the disapproval in her voice.

 

“Because I did not follow orders, Mistress.”

 

“That’s correct,” she says.

 

She approaches him, hooks her thumb beneath the waistband of his underwear, and slips the back of it down just below his ass cheeks.

 

She turns as Elliot comes to stand next to her. She hands him the paddle, and he holds onto it firmly. He moves and placed the paddle up to the man’s rear and gently circles it on his ass before pulling back and smacking him lightly with the paddle. He groans in approval.

 

“You may speak,” she says.

 

“Thank you, Mistress,” he says, an elation in his voice.

 

She nods to Elliot, and he reels the paddle back and slaps him again, this time harder. The man groans in approval once more.

 

“Thank You, Mistress,” he says again.

 

\--

 

Inside Linda’s home, she licks the remaining chocolate ice cream from her spoon as she watches Trixie ladle the last melted bits of ice cream from the container. She smiles to herself.

 

“What next?” she asks, “You want to do each other’s hair?”

 

Linda reaches back and pulls the band from her hair. Her loose ponytail falls, and her golden hair cascades down the sides of her face. She shakes her head and messes it up even more.

 

Trixie laughs.

 

Linda rests her elbow on the table and her chin in her hands.

 

“It’s been a while since I had pigtails like yours,” she says, “I wonder how it would look.”

 

She narrows her eyes then looks down at the ice cream container. She sits up and pulls it close to her, grabbing the spoon out and tossing it into the nearby sink.

 

“Or we could do our nails?” she says, turning to the nearby trashcan.

 

She places her foot on the lever, and the lid pops up. She tosses the carton into the trash and turns back to Trixie.

 

“or we can talk about boys,” she says, her tone playful as she turns back to Trixie.

 

“Ew,” Trixie says, laughing.

 

Linda smiles, she hadn’t had this much innocent fun in such a long time.

 

Suddenly there is scratching at the back door.

 

“You decide,” Linda says, walking around the counter, “I’m going to let Bubbles in and change into my PJ’s real quick.”

 

Linda turns to the door as she approaches it, only to find Amenadiel standing in the light, a small smile on his face. She pauses and turns to see Trixie sliding off the stool by the counter and walking into the living room where she plops down onto the sofa.

 

Linda turns back to the door and gently opens it. Bubbles trots in happily, but she only notices Amenadiel.

 

She turns back to Trixie for a moment then silently enters the back yard before closing the door gently behind her.

 

Inside, Trixie watches a Bubbles trots around the front of the couch and lays down at her feet. She reaches down and rubs his back with a smile. She sits up again and turns to see Linda outside talking to someone. She leans forward a bit and barely makes out the form of Amenadiel. She sits back in her seat.

 

Her eyes drift down to Bubbles, and she smiles. She leans forward and grabs his paw.

 

“We should paint _your_ nails,” she says. He just lays down flat against the floor and looks up at her with doughy eyes.

 

She smiles, and her eyes drift to the phone on the table. She pauses.

 

She turns to see Linda still at the backdoor, then turns back to the phone.

 

Slowly she reaches forward and grabs Linda’s phone. She presses the power button, and the screen lights up. Behind the time is a photo of Maze, Linda, Chloe and Ella sharing a drink at LUX.

 

Her eyes don’t see that picture, however. Instead, they immediately latch on to the “scroll up to unlock” at the bottom of the screen. She scrolls up, expecting to be greeted with a number pad only to find herself greeted instead with a bunch of icons. Her eyes widen, and she turns back to see Linda still in the yard behind her. Linda briefly looks at her before turning back to Amenadiel and moving closer to him.

 

Trixie turns her glance back to the phone. She presses the icon that pulls up a web browser and types three letters into the search bar:

 

S. E. X

 

\--

 

Outside, Linda seems surprised to see Amenadiel.

 

“Amenadiel,” she says, the shock apparent in her voice.

 

“I know, I know we’re supposed to be keeping our distance, but … I just … you’re usually reading by now,” he says, turning to the swing.

 

He turns back to Linda, “I was wondering what happened next with the hot vampire guy.”

 

Linda shakes her head and turns back to see Trixie on the couch. Trixie turns to her, and Linda briefly smiles before turning back to Amenadiel and stepping forward. She lowers her voice.

 

“Have you heard anything from Chloe?”

 

He looks at her, confused, and his smiles fades.

 

“No, should I have?”

 

Linda realizes Amenadiel hasn’t heard.

 

“Amenadiel … Dan’s in the hospital,” she says.

 

Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows, “What?”

 

“He tried to kill himself,” she says, even lower.

 

Amenadiel raises his eyes in shock.

 

“Wow,” he says, crossing his arms and turning his head to the side as if he were processing what he just heard.

 

“You know I never thought him for someone that would do something like that, but …depression is an ugly thing. It’s so hard to know when people are struggling. Especially if they don’t talk about it.”

 

“Is he okay?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Linda pauses, “I … I don’t know. I was hoping you were here to give me information.”

 

He shakes his head no. It's clear this is the first he’s heard of this.

 

“God, I wish he just … I wish he would have come to me,” she says, crossing her arms, “ We all handle grief differently. If I had known, I would have helped him process Charlotte's death.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “That can’t be it, we -.”

 

He pauses. He closes his eyes tightly as a cold and nauseating wave of realization falls over him. He forgot to clear the reminders of Charlotte from his life. It would have been easy to convince others his knowledge of her was how he grieved, but … seeing a picture of him holding her like he used to …

 

“Amenadiel?” Linda says, seeing how his face has a slightly green tint to it.

 

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Amenadiel finally says, smacking his lips as if trying to keep something down. He turns his eyes down to her.

 

She looks at him, not sure what to say to that.

 

“It … it’s my fault,” he says.

 

“No,” Linda says, grabbing hold of his arm.

 

She pauses, her mind distracted after feeling the muscles of his biceps. _Damn_ , she thinks. She had forgotten how … _tight_ his body he was.

 

“All I had to do was remove a few photos, and I just … I didn’t. I forgot. I … I spent the whole night guarding them like … like a buffoon.”

 

Linda turns back to him, her mind focused on the conversation again.

 

“Whatever you think you did,” she says, “You didn’t.”

 

He nods, “I know. That’s exactly the problem.”

 

He turns away from her and descends the few steps to her back patio.

 

“Wait! Amenadiel! Where are you going?” she asks.

 

He doesn’t respond. It was his fault, and he needed to fix this.

 

She watches him spread his wings, and in the blink of an eye, he’s gone. She turns back behind her to find Trixie still faced away, her head low as if looking at something in her hands.

 

Linda sighs, rubs her arm and turns around to slide open the sliding door. She puts on a fake smile.

 

“Everything alright in here?” she asks as she slides the door closed.

 

Trixie doesn’t respond. Linda casually strolls towards the couch, trying to completely ignore everything that was going on outside of her home, “What are we doing? Hair? Nails? Scary movie?” she asks.

 

Trixie looks up at Linda, a horrified look on her face as if she is disgusted. Linda looks at her oddly.

 

“What?” she says, approaching the couch. Her eyes immediately fall to the phone in Trixie’s hand, which has an image of a woman and a man, completely naked and in an extremely compromising position.

 

 It appears to be a snapshot from a pornographic film where the man is taking the woman from behind. She looks back at him, her mouth open wide in ecstasy.

 

Linda’s eyes widen.

 

“ _Oh my God_!” she says, lunging forward to grab the phone from her.

 

\--

 

Inside the private room at Wonderland, Mistress Carmen Redd stands with her black stiletto heels pressed into the back of a different man than the last. He is younger and thinner and seems much more eager to please. He lays splayed out on his belly, his wrists tied to nearby posts, and wears nothing but dirty tighty whiteys.

 

“Does that hurt?” she asks, a whip in dangling from her hand.

 

“Yes, Mistress,” he says in pain.

 

“What about this?” she asks as she begins to twist her heel. The skin below her heel begins to spin with it.

 

He screams in pain.

 

“Pelican!” he screams, “Pelican, Pelican!”

 

She sighs and removes her heel from his back.

 

“That’s two weeks in a row Alan,” she says disappointed.

 

“I’m sorry, Mistress,” he says.

 

She rolls her eyes out of his view before leaning down and beginning to untie the leather straps around his wrists.

 

“It’s okay,” she says, “but you know what happens when you use your safe word.”

 

“Yes, Mistress,” he says sadly. He sits up on his knees and rubs his wrists.

 

She turns to Elliot, and he nods. He grabs the leash, hanging off a nearby hook and approaches Alan. Alan looks up at him lovingly and nods before presenting the collar that still sits around his neck.

 

Elliot leans down and hooks the leash onto Alan’s collar. Then he stands and pulls the leash taught, yanking him down into an all four position. Alan smiles.

 

“Let’s go, you fucking filthy animal,” Elliot says.

 

Elliot escorts him out of the room, and as soon as the door closes, Natalie's shoulders drop for a brief moment. She twists her torso, stretching out her frame in wait.

 

She sighs and turns back to the door before a smile comes over her face. Her next client was her favorite. He wouldn’t mind the pain. In fact, he is the one who always pushes her to do more.

 

She turns and walks toward a chair in the corner of the room. She grabs it and drags it to the center before sitting on it and facing the door, crossing her legs in wait.

 

She brushes her hair back and fixes her top before setting her arms at her side and turning her body. She needed to look powerful when he entered; he loved it when she did that.

 

She sits and waits for what feels like too long before the door opens and Elliot steps in. Her smile fades when she sees the leash in his hand is empty.

 

She looks up to him, a confused look on her face.

 

Elliot shakes his head, “He’s not here.” 

“Did he cancel?” she asks.

Elliot shakes his head no and heads towards the shelf with his belongings. 

She twists her frame on the chair to watch him.  He pulls out a phone and presses the power button. The home screen pops up. 

No new notifications. He shakes her head and looks up at her.

She frowns and turns her head back to the door, sitting forward in her chair.

It wasn’t like him to be late, or to cancel. She turns back to Elliot, and Elliot shrugs.

Natalie frowns, and reaches out her hand to indicate he should give her the phone.

 

“I cleared the rest of my night for him,” she says angrily, “The least he could have done is told me.”

 

Elliot scrolls through his contacts and finds his name under “Freddy”.

 

He presses dial and hands Natalie the phone.

 

The phone rings and rings with no answer. She rolls her eyes in annoyance until the voicemail picks up.

 

“You’ve reached the voicemail of,” a robotic female voice says.

 

It is followed by a deep and clearly male,” Fred.”

 

“Please leave a message at the sound of the beep,” the female voice says again.

 

Beep!

 

\--

 

In a dark apartment somewhere in the city, sirens can be heard in the distance. A cat stares out the window, purring to itself. Its head turns into the living room where television plays reruns of Happy Days at a very low volume.

 

Suddenly, the phone starts to ring. It rings and rings to no response; the apartment is still.

 

“You’ve reached the voicemail of,” a robotic female voice says.

 

It is followed by a deep and almost monotonous," Fred.”

 

“Please leave a message at the sound of the beep,” the female voice says again.

 

Beep!

 

The cat, frightened at the beep of the machine, hops off the window sill and walks past the living room, past the kitchen, and past an open bedroom doorway into a bathroom.

 

Inside the bedroom, through the open door, the figure of a man lays still on the ground. He is motionless, his face tilted towards the door and a puddle of vomit beneath his head. His eyes stare forward, dull and just as motionless as the rest of him.

 

“Fred,” a sultry female voice says on the other line, “You know I don’t like it when clients cancel on me without letting me know. I’m going to hurt you _so_ bad the next time I see you. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

 

The voicemail clicks and the apartment falls back into relative silence; The television continues to play on low volume, the sirens continue to fade further into the distance, and there is the faint sound of a cat scratching litter.

 

\--

 

Linda launches herself across the couch and grabs the phone from Trixie.

 

“What are you doing?!” she screams as she quickly tries to exit out of the picture on her phone.

 

“I’m sorry I just –“

 

“That’s not something you should be looking at!”

 

“I’m sorry!” Trixie says, her voice low and weak as if she were about to cry.

 

“You know you’re not supposed to be looking at this stuff, and on my phone?!”

 

“I just wanted to know!” she says, tears starting to fall from her eyes.

 

Linda pauses, realizing how upset Trixie is becoming and takes a deep breath. She moves around the couch and sets the phone on the table.

 

“No, I’m sorry,” she says, moving in to hug Trixie. Trixie falls into her arms and sniffles.

 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Linda says, “I ‘m sorry, okay?”

 

Trixie nods.

 

“But you know you shouldn’t be looking up stuff like that on my phone,” Linda says, “that stuff isn’t for little girls to be looking at.”

 

“No one would tell me,” she says, pulling her head away and looking into Linda’s eyes, “I asked mommy, and she didn’t tell me, and I asked Maze, and she wouldn’t tell me. I tried looking on my tablet, but it was blocked.”

 

“And that should tell you that it’s not something you should be looking at,” Linda says.

 

Trixie lowers her head in defeat. She knows Linda was right, but her curiosity won out. She turns her head to Linda.

 

“is that what sex is?” she asks, referring to the image she saw.

 

Linda sighs and sits back in her seat, mentally kicking herself for not locking her phone. She thought babysitting Trixie would be easy because she was too old to need child locks on everything but too young to worry about her sneaking out to meet boys. She pauses for a moment and supposed her sneaking out might be less painful than this, that in-between phase when they ask awkward questions.

 

Linda turns to Trixie to find her still watching her, hoping she might answer.

 

Linda pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and sits forward.

 

“I tell you what,” she says, “Let me go change into my PJ’s, and we can watch a movie, and maybe then I’ll think about answering your question, okay?”

 

Trixie visibly shrinks and nods.

 

“Okay,” she says, defeated.

 

Linda gets up and grabs her phone off the nearby table before heading into the back bedroom.

Once inside, she closes the door gently behind her.

 

Immediately she slips off her blouse before she swipes up on her phone and dials a number.  She puts the phone between her ear and cheek as she reaches down and unbuttons her pants.

 

The phone rings twice before it clicks.

 

“Hello?” Chloe says, her voice low and sad.

 

“Hey Chloe,” Linda says, matching the tone of Chloe’s voice, “How is Dan?”

 

“He’s …,” she says, pausing to sigh deeply, “He’s hanging in there. The Doctor says he needs to make it through the night before his chances are good, and I just … I don’t know what to do,” she says.

 

“I’m so sorry, Chloe, “Linda says, slipping out of her pants and kicking them to the corner of her room.

 

“Yeah, me too, “she says.

 

“How is Trixie? Does she suspect anything?” Chloe asks.

 

“No, she’s fine. She a little confused, but she’s rolling with the punches.”

 

“Good,” Chloe says, stress slipping slightly from her voice, “that’s one less thing I have to deal with right now.”

 

“Yeah,” Linda says, “Except … I’m calling about something else.”

 

“What?” Chloe says.

 

“Uhm … Trixie got a hold of my phone and looked up something she shouldn’t.”

 

The line is silent for a second as if Chloe is parsing that information.

 

“Please don’t tell me –“

 

“I’m sorry!” Linda says, “I just … Amenadiel came by, and I had to break the news to him, and she was alone for a few minutes.”

 

Chloe lets go a massive sigh, “Okay,” she says.

 

“Okay?” Linda asks.

 

“Yeah, It’s … it’s fine. It’s not your fault. She’s been asking for a while, and I just … I didn’t really want to get into that conversation with her, but … at this point, it feels the least of my worries, so I’ll talk to her about it when I get a chance to step away from here.”

 

“Are you sure?” Linda says, “Because if you want, I can talk to her about it.”

 

“No,” Chloe says, “it’s fine, honestly. It’s probably something a parent should do, you know?”

 

“True … or a certified psychologist who is trying to help one of their best friends through a rough time might also be a good option.”

 

The line is silent.

 

“I’m one of your best friends?” Chloe asks.

 

“Uh Duh,” she says, “if we aren’t best friends, I am honestly super confused about what is happening here. And also, I’m going to send you a bill for all that free therapy I gave you.”

 

Chloe laughs, and her laugh teeters out into a small chuckle.

 

“Okay,” she says, a smile evident in her tone, “just … like, make sure she knows I can answer any question she has, okay?”

 

“Deal.”

 

“Thanks, Linda,” Chloe says.

 

“No Problem. Call me in the morning, okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Chloe says.

 

They say their goodbyes, and Linda hangs up before tapping the phone against her chin, her eyes drifting as she thinks about all there is to be said and done.

 

She didn’t really ever envision giving the talk to anyone anytime soon. She goes over in her head the kind of things she should say – and the things she shouldn’t.

 

How far would she take this talk? Was this a biology lesson? Was this going to be a discussion about morality and ethics? What kind of questions did Trixie even have?

 

She turns to a nearby dresser and opens a drawer and pulls out a shirt and a pair of sweatpants. She slides them on before turning to her door and opening it.

 

She walks down a short hallway and emerges from the end of the living room.

 

“Hey, kiddo,” Linda says. Trixie turns to her and gives a small smile.

 

“Did you pick a movie for us?” she asks.

 

Trixie nods and leans forward, sliding a DVD copy of “The Mist” off the coffee table.

 

Linda’s eyes raise, and she nods, “That’s an … interesting choice.”

 

“Is it bad?” Trixie asks.

 

Linda smiles and moves to sit on the couch next to her.

 

“No, it’s a pretty decent movie. Otherwise, why would I own a copy of it?” she asks with a smile.

 

Trixie gives her a faint smile back as the room dips into silence. Trixie’s eyebrows furrow as she picks up on the strange tension.

 

“Am I in trouble?” she asks.

 

Linda smiles and leans her elbow on the couch as she turns her body to Trixie.

 

“No, not at all. I spoke to your mom, and we agreed that maybe it was time you … learned about what sex is.”

 

“Okay,” Trixie says, uncertain she even wants to know anymore.

 

\--

 

Inside the precinct, Ella plays music loudly over her computer speakers while peering into a microscope. It’s clear she hasn’t left work yet and doesn’t intend to soon. She peers away from the microscope and starts to jot something down onto the paper before pushing the microscope away and turning to her computer. She opens a screen and begins filling out paperwork.

 

She’s focused and determined, but just behind that lays an intense worry. She can’t stop thinking about Daniel. She's trying to take her mind off him with work but, she finds her mind drifting to him.

 

She shakes her head, trying to that thought out. Worrying wasn’t going to help him. There was nothing she could do and that … _that_ made her anxious; work helped her anxiety.

 

She goes back to her typing when she hears the opening and shutting of a door. She turns behind her to see who it could be, then sees the Lieutenant descending the steps to the bullpen.

 

She is wearing a regular white top with jeans, but there is something different about her. The Lieutenant and Ella catch eyes, and they both pause. Ella waves softly, and the Lieutenant smiles before calmly walking over to the open door of Ella’s lab.

 

“Burning the midnight oil?” She says.

 

“Yeah,” Ella says, turning back to the paper she was just writing information down on, “I uh … I needed to clear my head, and work helps.”

 

The Lieutenant sighs and leans against the door jam.

 

“Yeah,” she says.

 

“What about you? Don’t tell me you enjoy late nights at the precinct.”

 

Natalie laughs and crosses her arms, “No, I just … I have a lot of paperwork I have to catch up on from today and …I have to get in front of the issue with Detective Espinoza.”

 

Ella’s mind goes back to him. It would change everything if he were gone. The group had a nice little dynamic going. She sighs and turns back to the Lieutenant. She takes real notice of what she is wearing and tilts her head. Her lipstick is a different shade than usual, it’s deeper and darker and more … sultry.

 

“Did you go on a date or something?” Ella says, “You look … fresh. Like, you tried. Not saying you don’t normally try I just –“

 

Natalie laughs, “No… I mean, I guess you can say it was a date of sorts but … he canceled so… I’m here.”

 

Ella nods, and the room dips into a comfortable silence. They stay that way for what seems like forever until Natalie pushes herself off the door jam.

 

“Well, if you need anything, I’ll be in my office,” she says.

 

Ella nods, “alright.”

 

Natalie leaves and Ella turns back to her papers. Her mind goes onto Daniel again, and she shakes it off. There was nothing she could do. There was nothing _anyone_ could do.

 

Ella goes back to typing up the report on her computer. She glances back and forth between the written notes and the computer before pressing save and then print. She pauses as the printer at the end of the room whirrs to life, then scoots her chair away from the table.

 

She approaches the printer and holds her hands over the paper as it prints out warm sheet after warm sheet. She turns her vision to the Lieutenant’s office and sees her leaned back, reading a document with a pen twirling in her mouth. She looks calm, calmer than she’s been in several days. Quite frankly, despite her saying her date was canceled, it seems like she had a _great_ time.

 

That makes Ella’s mind briefly moves to Maze. She feels guilty for not holding up her end of the deal. Maze didn’t seem to mind. In fact, it seemed as if she was more interested in playing her video games than having sex with her. Ella shakes her head, who could blame her? If she hooked up with someone who fell asleep on her before she could finish, she wouldn’t call them back either.

 

The printer prints out its last pages, and Ella grabs the stack before walking back to her computer and stapling the pages together.

 

She shakes her head; she had no idea what she was going to do with Maze. Maybe she should give up? She wasn’t even into women, was she? This whole thing with Maze was just a fluke, just … sex. So why did she care so much?

 

She slips the stack of papers into a folder and walks around the end of her table. She exits the lab and walks towards the Lieutenant's office before knocking on her open door.

 

Natalie looks up, takes the pen out of her mouth, and sits up.

 

“You don’t have to knock Ms. Lopez,” she says, “Just come on in. What can I do for you?’

 

Ella walks in and hands Natalie the stack of papers, “I just finished the preliminaries on the Phillips murder. I think Detective Reed is still working on getting the phone records and a search warrant, but … the evidence is pretty much clear on who did what.”

 

Natalie briefly opens the file, scans over it, then closes it and places it on a stack on her desk.

 

“As always, excellent work Ms. Lopez,” she says with a smile.

 

Ella nods and turns to leave.

 

Natalie watches her leave, her eyes go back down to her papers.

 

“Uh, Ms. Lopez,” she says, her eyes tight with regret. She pushes forward anyway, “I uhm … I’m going to be here for a while it feels like. I don’t know your intentions, but … I was just about to order some dinner. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet?”

 

Ella turns to her and smiles.

 

“I haven’t,” she says.

 

\--

 

Lucifer stands at the edge of a rocky outcrop. In front of him, a giant golden gate sits encircled by pillowy nebula. They seem ghostly, but there is no doubt in his mind that he could stand on them as one would stand on concrete or dirt.

 

He stares at the gate, his stomach filled with anxiety. He hadn't seen this gate since … well, since before his fall. It used to fill him with a sense of safety, with the idea that behind these gates lay true protection from the other. Now that he was the other, who would protect him? _Who should be protected from him?_

 

Cautiously he lowers his wings and slowly steps towards the gate. It feels odd being back here, even outside the city. He had thought being back here would be a simple stop, but he hadn't factored in how he might feel knowing what is on the other side and knowing how close he is to the Silver City.

 

 _Knowing_ he hadn't thought he would ever be this close again.

 

 _Knowing_ he didn't think he'd ever want to be this close again, but now that he was here … he can't help but imagine what it could have been like had he never left.

 

He pauses for a moment, suddenly overwhelmed by his own inner thoughts. Should he even be here? He needed to speak with Iridius, but it would mean walking through a city of brothers and sisters he hadn't seen since his fall. Even more, it would mean possibly seeing Father. Was he ready for that?

 

He momentarily second guesses himself. He shakes that feeling off. It wasn't about him. It was about the Detective; about Daniel.

 

He steps forward, his purpose for being here had momentarily faded but was back with even more resolve.

 

As Lucifer gets a few hundred yards from the gate, it slowly opens. It squeals and creaks with noises that reveal its true age. The gates are large and heavy and shouldn't be held up so easily by seemingly nothing, but somehow, they are.

 

Behind the opening gates, Lucifer sees Michael. He is followed by four other angels. Michael leads them forward and stands a hundred yards in front of the gate. He locks his feet in to place, but his hands stay relaxed at his side. Michael stands as if daring Lucifer to come forward; he stands as if he knows something Lucifer doesn't.

 

He watches Lucifer without saying anything as if attempting to gauge his purpose. Lucifer smiles. It pleases him to see Michael taking him seriously; it pleases him to have Michael afraid.

 

"Brother," Lucifer says, "I had expected more of a party for my welcome home."

 

"You are not welcome here," Michael says, "I would suggest you turn around and head back to earth. Or better yet, Hell."

 

Lucifer shakes his head and slips his hands into his pants pockets.

 

"I believe you, and I are in agreeance for once, Michael. I do not wish to be here as much as you do not want me here. So, surely, I must have a good reason for coming. Do you not care to know?"

 

"I do not," he says, "Unlike you, I do not seek the answers to questions that do not concern me."

 

Lucifer nods, a slow red flame building in his eyes.

 

"Well, luckily for you, I'm not here for you, brother," Lucifer asks, "I've only come to speak with Iridius."

 

"Then you came all this way for nothing," Michael says, "but you and I both know I cannot let you past these gates."

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, an air of defiance and insinuation in his voice, "Because father told you so?"

 

"Because that is my task," he replies unabashedly, "to protect the Silvery City and its occupants."

 

Lucifer nods, a question he had in his head being answered, "From me?" he says almost as a statement.

 

There's a tinge of hurt to his phrase, but it is covered in an air of defiance and pride.

 

"You made your choice," Michael says.

 

Lucifer reaches up and combs his hand through the strands of his dark hair, the flame in his eyes burning as he attempts to self-soothe. He nods his head slowly as he clenches his jaw.

 

"I was not given a choice, Brother. That was made for me. You of all angels should know that."

 

"You aren't welcome here, Samael," Michael says, seemingly done with this conversation. He wasn't here to argue.

 

 "Go back to where you came from. Don't make me have to break your wings again."

 

Lucifer pauses and tilts his head. He stands there and momentarily watches Michael. When he was younger, he had looked up to Michael, both figuratively and literally. He had been the one brother that Lucifer had always felt would have his back.

 

The others, sure they would speak to him and treat him brotherly, but it was hard to have any real connection with every angel when there were so many. With Michael, it was different. He had _trusted_ him; he had loved him as only a brother could.

 

Something in him had hoped that Michael had some regret, Lucifer certainly did. Yet, hearing that … hearing him say those words with very little emotion behind them. It reopens a wound that he had thought was long closed. It reignites the hurt, the betrayal, and _the anger_ that accompanied it.

 

"I'd like to see you try," Lucifer finally replies as he steps forward with purpose, the red flame in his eyes now unbridled.

 

Michael doesn't move, he continues to stand there with his arms at his side, "Don't force my hand, Samael."

 

Lucifer slowly approaches Michael, one step in front of the other, each one sending a signal to Michael he has no intention of stopping.

 

Suddenly Lucifer's hand hits a barrier that stretches as he moves forward, almost as if he were cast in a net. It burns anything it touches with a bright golden flame. He jumps back and looks at the damage he's done to his coat jacket.

 

It's completely singed and tattered at the arm.

 

The bits of his arm touched by the flame are completely hairless.

 

He looks up and finally notices the pulsating field of gold in front of him. It forms a wall that is tall and vast. It goes on for miles as the gold shimmers through each new section.

 

Lucifer looks at it, then back in front of him.

 

Michael smiles, "It is Father's will," he says, "It would be best for everyone if you weren't so stubborn and just obeyed for once."

 

Lucifer shakes his head and slips the jacket off his body before tossing it to the ground.

 

"and give up so easily?" he asks, "I love a challenge."

 

Lucifer's eyes crawl over the shimmering wall. His eyes drop as he thinks. Even if he made it all the way through, he'd burn - no doubt about it - much like his fall. But he needed to speak with Iridius. He couldn't go back empty-handed; he couldn't go back and watch Chloe be upset or cry over something he could have prevented. He needed to protect her from _everything_ , even her own emotions.

 

He steps back slowly as if gaining some distance.

 

Lucifer takes a deep breath, pauses, then gets a running jump as he dives into the barrier. It holds him up momentarily as if he were breaking through jello. Every inch of skin and cloth it touches ignites into a golden flame.  Suddenly the barrier breaks, and he falls on the other side of it, covered entirely in fire.

 

It seals up behind him as if nothing happened.

 

He collapses on the ground and starts to scream in pain as fire eats away at every part of his body. Michael stares down to him, his gaze filled with intrigue and disappointment.

 

Slowly, Lucifer begins to stand - to fight the pain of the flames - only to collapse under the weight of his burning flesh again.

 

Michael's gaze turns from a stoic disinterest to worry as his eyebrows furrow. He wants to walk forward and push Lucifer out of the flame, but he stays put. It is Father's will, but it doesn't make it any easier to watch.

 

Lucifer raises himself up on his arms, the golden flame eating away at fat and flesh. He grunts in pain as he turns his head upwards to catch eyes with Michael.

 

Michael looks on in horror as his eyes begin to burn brighter than the golden flame around him.  A hot, bright cyan pierces through the gold flame. For a moment, a brief second in time, Michael swears that the flame burns white. He blinks. No, they are blue.

 

Lucifer tries again to stand, slowly fighting the weight of his crackling skin. He stands slowly, his skin shifting and sloshing like thick soup as he moves. He manages to stand, clearly fighting the pain of the fire and begins to shuffles forward; an eerie laugh in his voice as if to suggest this wasn't enough to stop him. Each step leaving behind a puddle of burned and bloody flesh.

 

Michael steps back in horror, placing his hand on his blade.

 

Lucifer makes it a few steps before collapsing again. His mouth begins to drool as he is overcome with the flames. The saliva evaporates with the heat of the fire before it even hits the ground.

 

Michael finally steps forward, drawing his hand from his blade.

 

"Brother, you must stop. Turn around. It isn't worth it," he pleads.

 

Lucifer speaks slowly; his voice deep and guttural; his skin red and charred.

 

"What would you know?" he asks, an echo in his voice that feels powerful; perhaps too powerful, "You know nothing about love. How do you know she isn't worth it."

 

He pauses. Was he talking about Chloe Decker? The mortal?

 

"I would do anything for her," he continues, his voice slow as he runs out of energy to fight the flame, "I would do … any …"

 

Suddenly he's still and silent; his body collapsed into a burning pile of flesh on the ground. He's still very much alive, but all his energy is devoted to fighting the pain.

 

The fire has burned away most of his flesh and muscle. His body regenerates the tissue only on have it burn again. It's an endless cycle of disintegration and reanimation. Each more painful than the last as new and uncalibrated nerve endings are born into and die by a golden flame.

 

It is silent as Lucifer lays there in the fetal position on the ground. Michael turns to the other angels who also seem to have a worry in their hearts. Michael turns back to Lucifer.

 

"You're afflicted," Michael says, "only a mortal would do something so stupid. You've lived with them too long, Samael. It would be best if you went back to Hell. It would be best for everyone, even Chloe."

 

Lucifer lets out a groan. There isn't enough energy there for words, but even the groan is defiant and carries with it the insinuation that Michael has no idea what he is talking about.

 

Suddenly the flame around Lucifer dissipates, and what lays there is a charred, red, and bloody body. Slowly, the charred flakes on his skin fades to pink, and he lays there, naked in the fetal position. His chest rises and falls as each nerve in his body recalibrates and reconnects, finally able to live without death.

 

His body twitches as nerves boot to life and test their freedom.

 

Michael feels a presence next to him and turns to see God standing there, his eyes swirling with the universe. He stares at Lucifer as if he himself put out the flame.

 

"Father," Michael says surprised, "We were just about to-"

 

God turns to Michael, and Michael stops talking. God smiles and plants a hand on his shoulder.

 

"You did well, Michael," he says. Michael nods. Somehow he doesn't feel like he did well.

 

God approaches the pile of flesh and sweat on the ground. He stands in front of it, almost as if watching a new creation. His eyes are filled with curiosity and unfathomable love.

 

"Stand," he says, his voice echoing through every imaginable fiber of Lucifer's being.

 

Lucifer slowly opens his eyes. When they open, the brown in his eyes are a pale ghostly white. He sees out of them like normal eyes, but they are not normal eyes.

 

"Samael," he hears a voice say again, "Stand."

 

He knows that voice. He's heard that voice. He … _missed_ that voice. He turns his eyes up and sees God looking down at him.

 

Unsure, Lucifer slowly moves to stand and steadies himself on wobbly feet. He falls over once, bending at the hips as he catches himself on the ground. He pauses and looks back up to see God still looking at him like that. He furrows his eyes in confusion. Why was Father looking at him like that? Like he cared.

 

He stands again and steadies himself before standing tall and straight. He is completely nude from head to toe, his clothing having been burned off. Suddenly he is gravely aware of every inch of his body and moves his hand in front of his crotch to cover his genitals.

 

He looks back towards God, who continues to stare at him as if taking in the sight of him. The white in his eyes slowly fade to brown as he stands to stare forward.

 

Finally, God speaks again.

 

"It has been too long, Samael," he says, the way a father might say a child's name after years of not seeing them. He smiles widely.

 

Lucifer looks on, a deep confusion in his eyes. It's the first time he's seen his Father since … well since before his fall. He has a mix of feelings swirling inside of him, all fighting for dominance, and he doesn't know which one should win.

 

First, there is the nostalgia; the longing for what could have been. Despite Lucifer spending the better part of his existence defying God at every opportunity, part of him still longed for the look he was receiving now. Even as a man, he couldn't deny there was a desire to be loved and accepted by one's creator.

 

That quickly is followed by regret; regret for what he did – or is presumed to have done – to get him kicked out.

 

Then follows the shame; It is a shame he didn't know he had, the shame of facing the man the whole world thinks he wronged.

 

That only is followed by anger; anger that Father did nothing to stop it. He did nothing to clear Lucifer's name. He knew and has always known and did nothing to ease the pain of his fall. He had watched every being in creation throw stones at him and did nothing to stop it; even worst, he provided the stones to throw.

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to Michael, then the angels behind them. They all thought he was a monster, enough to approach him at the gates and threaten violence to keep him out.

 

He turns his eyes back to God, a red flame filtering back into his eyes.

 

… _and Father did nothing_.

 

He opens his mouth to say something but is distracted as suddenly he's donned in a white linen tunic with golden trim and a golden belt. It was the kind of clothing one would wear if they lived in the Silver City.

 

It is exceptionally dated but comfortable. His anger slightly dissipates, and again he is overcome with nostalgia. He reaches down and feels the linen, remembering what it was like to wear it.

 

Suddenly it dawns on him. He had never wanted to come back here. He hated it here, but … it felt much like coming home after a long day of work. He wanted to feel what it felt like to lay beneath the stars in the observatory. He wanted to know again how It felt to fly between the city skyline with his brothers and tell stories about the genesis of man.

 

"It's so good to see you," God says with a smile.

 

Lucifer snaps out of it and stares forward. He opens his mouth to speak, his voice light and crackled as if he hadn't spoken in ages. He clears his throat, tossing those emotions away and stands up straight. He hadn't come here to feel like a child, or to be stuck in the past.

 

_It wasn't about him._

 

"I wish I could say the same Father, but … well, you know why I'm here. I've come to speak with Iridius," he says, as he lowers his hands by his side, his voice slathered in confidence.

 

God smiles, "If you really want to save your mortal friend, you'll need to speak with me."

 

Lucifer scoffs.

 

"You and I have nothing to talk about," he says.

 

"Oh, it's just the opposite Samael. We have much to discuss."

 

Lucifer shakes his head. What would they have to talk about that wouldn't end up in Lucifer proclaiming how much he hated him.

 

God furrows his eyebrows.

 

"Do you truly feel that way?" God asks.

 

Lucifer pauses. Then he remembers what It was like to speak to Father.

 

"Iridius is more than capable of assisting me in this-," Lucifer begins to say in defiance.

 

"All of my children are capable, Samael, but only one of them readily defies God to his face."

 

God links his wrists behind his back and turns, walking back towards Michael.

 

"I believe it to be time you grew out of that," God says, as he stops and stands next to Michael, "If my plan is to work, you must stop defying me."

 

Lucifer scoffs, "If I am Defiant Father, it is because you choose to see me as your pet and not your son. I am my own man. I can make my own decisions."

 

God's smile fades, "I have given you everything you’ve ever wanted, Samael. Why should I also burden you with the illusion of choice? "

 

"Forget it," Lucifer says scoffing as he turns around.

 

He wouldn't get anywhere with Father. Father had his own idea about how the world should work, but that didn't fit in with reality. The world wasn't a ball of clay anymore, it wasn't to be molded by force. It was living, and each creature – each mortal – within it had a story to tell.

 

 "I will find another way," Lucifer says.

 

Lucifer continues walking, shaking his head. He refused to be manipulated like this. If he couldn't speak to Iridius directly, he'd have to summon a messenger and call for him the old fashioned way. He was used to circumventing Father's will. There was always another option.

 

"Do you truly believe that everything that happens is not of my will?" he asks, "That Cain’s punishment was to never come to an end? Or that the love of my life should find her own power in another Universe? Or perhaps that Daniel was always going to make an attempt on his life without my interference?”

 

Lucifer pauses in his tracks.

 

"The doctors say it's a miracle he's made it this far," God says, "They suppose it might require another Miracle for him to make it further."

 

Lucifer slowly turns around, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

Daniel tried to kill himself? He drops his eyes to the ground.

 

Then he was too late. He looks up towards God and Michael standing before the gate.

 

He had to speak to Iridius. He couldn't leave here without speaking to Iridius.

 

 "It would be nothing for me to pull the thread that unravels the web of his life," God says.

 

Lucifer's eye twitches, the blue flame burning in his eyes at the implication.

 

"You wouldn't," he says before pausing.

 

He already knows that God would. _He was a maniac_. He cared little for the lives of mortals. He was playing … well … God. Mortals were playthings to which he could do as he pleases.

 

"Are you so willing to play with the lives of mortals to teach me a lesson?" Lucifer says in awe at what he is hearing. He believed his Father to be manipulative, uncaring, and unjust, but this ….

 

He shakes his head in disbelief.

 

"Yes," God replies unabashedly, "because I have a plan. A great plan. One that is more important than any one mortal life.”

 

Lucifer slowly approaches him, "What is the lesson then?" he asks with anger, "' That you can do as you please with no punishment? That the world is yours and yours alone to manipulate? What happened to being _just_? And _Good_? Did you not teach me what was right and what was wrong? What happened to free will? What happened to being in control of your own destiny?"

 

"I don't believe I've ever given you the idea that you had control over anything," God says, his eyebrows furrowed, "That sounds more like a mortal teaching than my own."

 

Lucifer chuckles. He is not shocked at all.

 

"Of course it is, because I've learned more from them than I've ever learned from you. And why wouldn't I? You've always cared more for them than your own son."

 

God pauses, his face falling into calm disinterest. He looks on as if reading into Lucifer's thoughts; into his soul.

 

"You truly believe that?" he says, less of a question and more of a mild shock that it was still there. After all these years, deep down, he still thought that.

 

"Yes," Lucifer says, his voice getting louder, "You've spoken more to them in the past millennia than to me. You ignored me. _You left me to rot_!"

 

God smiles and shakes his head.

 

"I've always spoken to you, Samael. You just never listened. You chose not to answer."

 

"That is not my name!" Lucifer yells, his anger getting the best of him, "I am not your thing to manipulate! To control! I am my own being! I am not here to do your bidding!"

 

God stands silent, watching Lucifer. His eyes drop, and he turns to the side, staring into nothingness. He had a plan, and he was so close to fulfilling his greatest purpose.

 

How much of the truth was Lucifer ready for? Slowly he turns back to Lucifer.

 

"You are _exactly_ made to do my bidding," he says with little room for interpretation, "Child, I do not believe you quite understand. I have a plan, a _great_ plan, and you _will_ be part of it. This is why I created you. If I truly desired, I could destroy you, but -"

 

"Great. Then destroy me," Lucifer says.

 

God tilts his head, his eyes intrigued at the sight before him.

 

 "if you are so sick of me as I am sick of you, then destroy me! Get it over with!" Lucifer screams.

 

Lucifer waits patiently as God stands there, time swirling behind his eyes.

 

There is a stillness there between them. Lucifer's eyes ping pong between the pools of nebula that are God's eyes. God's eyes narrow, mild anger rising inside of them as the gases inside the swirling nebula burn bright.

 

"No?" Lucifer says, "Great. Now are you going to free Daniel of his messenger duties? Or am I going to have to find a way to circumvent you again."

 

God hums to himself and nods. He chuckles and shakes his head.

 

"I will," he starts, "but I require something in return. A favor if you will."

 

Lucifer pauses. Of course, it was never simple with him.

 

Lucifer turns to leave, "Fine, send me the bill," he says.

 

He walks a few steps before God speaks to him again.

 

"Do you honestly believe I abandoned you, Samael?" God asks.

 

Lucifer pauses and turns partially to him.

 

"Truly. Deep in your heart," God continues, "You believe that?"

 

"You read minds Father, what do you think?"

 

"I want to hear you say it," God says, "I want to hear you tell me that I've abandoned you."

 

He turns to fully face God. Lucifer stares at him, a wretched feeling crawling from his gut. They stand only a few feet apart, but the proximity isn't what makes it feel this way.

 

It's the words.

 

_The feeling._

 

The chance to say it like it is.

 

"Father," Lucifer says, "You a…"

 

His voice creaks, and his jaw twitches. He clears his throat. He was done with tears and sadness. He was done with saying sorry or apologizing for his past. The world would believe what they wanted. There was only one opinion that mattered, and she wasn't here.

 

"You abandoned me," Lucifer says point blankly.

 

God shakes his head, "How could I? How could I abandon you when every good thing that has ever happened to you is all me. "

 

Lucifer stands there, he shakes his head and scoffs.

 

"The world _hates_ me. They blame me for every vile thing that happens to them. I've had to spend my life tending to demons and watching mortals I've cared for grow old and die time and time again. The only thing you provided me with, Father, was a family who either rejected me or treated me like a pariah."

 

"What of your riches?" God says, "When you wake up in the morning in your penthouse, above your successful business and surrounded by beautiful women ... that is me. I have given you the world despite your transgressions, and still, you deny me. I would argue it was you who abandoned me."

 

Lucifer stares at him, then at Michael.

 

"Fine. Maybe you didn't abandon me," Lucifer says, correcting himself, "but I certainly wish you had. It would have been much easier to deal with knowing you never loved me if you did."

 

God doesn’t respond to that. He just stares forward, an endless vortex of time in his eyes.

 

Lucifer pauses. Of anything, he had wanted a reply to _that_. He wanted to be told he was wrong, but the silence was speaking more words than his own father.

 

“Right,” he says, a hurtful realization in his voice. He had known but ... he hadn't _known._

 

Lucifer turns and heads away from the gate, back to the rocky edge of the outcrop.

 

God watches him walk away, his eyes steeped in curiosity and intrigue. Michael approaches behind him as they watch Lucifer spread his wings and step off the edge of the outcrop, falling out of sight.

 

Michael turns to God.

 

"You are going to allow him to speak to you like that?" Michael snarls.

 

God turns to Michael and smiles.

 

"Calm yourself, son," he says.

 

Michael nods, he doesn't like it, but he will do as he is told.

 

"How are the preparations?" God asks.

 

"The army grows stronger with each passing moment."

 

"Excellent," God says, turning back to where Lucifer was just standing.

 

God smiles to himself. It truly is fascinating watching it happen. After so long, the time was finally here.

 

Suddenly, he feels something he hadn't felt in a long time … anxious. Everything he had laid out for a millennia was finally coming to fruition. It had to go right, everything had to go as planned.

 

\--

 

Ella Lopez and Lieutenant Natalie Edwards sit in her office eating Chinese takeout. Ella sits in front of Natalie's desk, her legs folded across each other, picking at the chicken part of her chicken lo-mein. Natalie sits back in her chair, a plate of half-eaten dumplings and another plate of orange chicken and rice in front of her. She sips on a beer and stares out into the precinct.

 

"Anyway," Ella continues, "Then we had Lieutenant Peirce. Now, _he_ was a hottie. He was tall, and brooding had these … great big shoulders."

 

She raises her arms out wide to indicate the size of him. She pauses once she realizes what she is saying and sighs.

 

"But you know … he turned out to be a terrorist so, guess there goes that fantasy."

 

Natalie takes a sip of her beer and laughs. Ella turns her eyes to Natalie, then back down to the container of Lo Mein. She pokes at it for a second before turning her eyes back to Natalie.

 

"Then we had uhm … Lieutenant Adams," she says, her voice softer.

 

"Mm," Natalie says, taking another sip of her beer, "the one that disappeared?"

 

She nods, "He was … uhm," She struggles to find the words.

 

"He was actually kind of sweet … but, he clearly had some like … residual stuff from being in the war."

 

Natalie furrows her brow, "Really? Which war?"

 

Ella pauses for a moment. She actually didn't ask.

 

"I don't know," she says, the realization that she doesn't remember him mentioning which war he was in.

 

“He was young so … I imagine it must have been recent.”

 

Natalie shrugs and downs the remainder of her beer before leaning forward and tossing it into a trashcan by her desk.

 

"Anyway," Ella says, "the point is, it's kind of nice to have a Lieutenant that's… I don't know, normal."

 

Natalie nods, her eyes narrowed. She tilts her head as she sits back and folds her fingers in her lap.

 

"Normal," she says, not sure if that were a compliment or a criticism.

 

"In a good way," Ella says, clarifying her statement.

 

"Right," she says, nodding. Her eyes drop, and she looks back at her food.

 

Normal, she believes herself to be _far_ from normal. Though she supposes as a Lieutenant she was pretty … _normal._

 

"Either way, you've done a lot of stuff around here in the past week that makes me feel like it’s just what the precinct needs."

 

She looks back up at Ella.

 

"Thank you, Ms. Lopez," she says, "I ... I truly appreciate that."

 

"Please, call me Ella."

 

Natalie pauses.

 

Natalie shakes her head, "Absolutely not."

 

Ella pauses, caught off guard.

 

Natalie sighs and leans forward, "Ms. Lopez, I appreciate your candor, and while I will consider your words, … quite frankly, I don't want to be your friend. I think that perhaps it is best we … not blur those lines."

 

Ella raises her eyebrows in surprise, that was very … forward.

 

"Don't get me wrong," Natalie continues, "I'm certain that had we met in different circumstances, we would get along just peachy, but for the sake of this precinct, I think it's best I have some level of …"

 

Natalie pauses, trying to think of the word.

 

She shakes her head, willing the word to come out.

 

Ella watches her, still in shock at how upfront she was.

 

Natalie can't find the word, so instead she changes her phrasing, "I think it's probably best we are very clear about the nature of our relationship."

 

Ella nods her head, her eyebrows raised as she takes that all in.

 

"Okay," she says, her words indicating she is still in shock, "Loud and clear boss."

 

Natalie nods, and they sit there awkwardly.

 

"Well," Ella says, standing up, "I guess I better finish up my report and head on out. Murder never ends."

 

Ella laughs, but the joke falls flat, and she escorts herself out.

 

Natalie watches her before turning her glance back to the food in front of her.

 

She reaches for her fork and shoves a mouthful of rice into it. In the silence of her office, she hears her phone vibrate. She turns to her purse on the floor nearby and reaches into it, pulling out a smartphone inside a jet black case.

 

She presses the power button and sees she has one missed call.

 

She furrows her brow. _She hadn't heard her phone ring?_

 

She presses a button to call her voicemail and grabs another spoon full of rice and chicken.

 

"You have one unheard Message," the robotic female voice says on the line.

 

Natalie sits back in her chair, wishing she had another beer to wash this down with.

 

"First unheard Message," the voicemail continues.

 

Suddenly there's a different voice on the line, one more human, more _memorable_.

 

"Hey Nat, this is Liz. I know it's your play day, but I wanted to call and let you know uhm… you know, before you heard it anywhere else.,"

 

There's a long silence on the line. Natalie stares forward, that voice bringing up many beautiful memories.

 

"God," Liz chuckles, "I don't know how to say this, but … I figure it’s been enough time, right? Uhm … Maggie and I are getting married."

 

Natalie stops chewing and her heart sinks about six feet beneath the ground.

 

"I wanted you to know before you saw it posted online or anything. I uhm … was also thinking that, I was _wondering_ if you'd want to come to the wedding? I mean, since you introduced us and everything."

 

Natalie continues to stare forward, not a single drop of emotion in her eyes.

 

"Anyway … I'll, I'll let you get back to what you were doing. Call me, okay? Bye."

 

The line clicks, and everything is silent, even the sound of her heartbeat. She sits there, motionless, and shifts her eyes towards Ella's office.

 

"End of Message," a robotic voice says, "To repeat –"

 

Natalie clicks the phone off and sets it on the table. She looks around for a moment. Had she just heard what she think she heard? She pauses and stands, as if deciding what to do. She looks back up towards Ella's lab.

 

Inside Ella's Lab, Ella continues to type on her computer. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the Lieutenant stand and turns her head.

 

The Lieutenant stares down at her food, almost as if deciding whether she were done with it. Ella turns her head back to her computer.

 

She could be offended that the Lieutenant had cut her off so coldly, but the truth is …some people took a little longer to warm up. She had no doubt that soon she's be enjoying a drink at LUX with the Lieutenant, it was only a matter of time.

 

She turns her head once more to look into the Lieutenant's office. The Lieutenant stands at the blinds in front of the large windows that pour light from the precinct into her office. She slowly shuts them. Ella furrows her brow.

 

_What was she doing now?_

 

 --

 

Daniel slowly wakes up on the shore of a lake. It is night time, and the moon peeks over the silhouettes of animated trees that go for miles. He sits up, his eyes immediately going to the inky lake in front of him.

 

He looks around the shore of this lake to see it is relatively small. He can see where the coast is on both sides around him. He stands, dusting off unusually bright sand from his pants and legs.

 

He looks again at the lake in front of him. It is placid, and if he hadn't somehow known it was a lake, he would have mistaken it for glass.

 

He turns, his back facing the lake as he tries to figure out where he is. A confused look falls over his face as he realizes he doesn't know how he got here.

 

Behind him, the once placid lake stirs as concentric rings move outward from a figure rising from the lake. Not standing, not swimming _, rising_.

 

He hears the small waves that begin to crash against the sand and turns as the figure starts to _float_ towards him. A sense of awe and fear fills his heart, and he slowly backs up. It floats towards him, a menacing look in its eyes.

 

Slowly, wings start to rise behind the figure as it tilts its head, its unseen eyes locked onto Daniel. He can’t tell if the wings are black, or just covered in the inky darkness of the lake.

 

He can't see any distinguishable features, but he gets the distinct feeling he is in the presence of pure evil. He looks around momentarily and realizes where he might be. _Is this hell?_

 

Daniel finds himself frozen in fear, unable to move as he watches this figure progressively get closer to him. Suddenly the moonlight hits its face just right, and he realizes it is Lucifer.

 

\--

 

It’s early morning in the hospital, and Chloe sleeps uncomfortably on a chair beneath two medium sized windows. The room is silent except for the beeping of machines. Suddenly she pops up, stirred awake by her own dreams, and looks around.

 

She relaxes when she sees Daniel still lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to machines. She places both her feet on the ground and leans forward to put her head in her hands. She lets out a deep sigh and rubs her face. She looks back up towards Daniel and pauses when she finds Lucifer standing beside Daniel’s bed.

 

She narrows her eyes. Lucifer wasn’t just there before, _right_?

 

“Lucifer,” she says quietly as she stands.

He slowly shifts his gaze towards her, and she pauses. There is a lot behind those eyes, and she can see It all clearly. Her eyes drop down as she notices he is draped in short white linen with gold embellishments.

 

“What are you wearing?” she says, more intrigued by his choice of clothing than the madness brewing within his eyes.

 

She steps forward, around the end of Daniel’s bed, and approaches him. Here, beneath the light and closer, she can tell something is different about him. His skin looks both pink and more olive, almost brand new. She reaches her arm forward to touch it only to find it soft and hairless.

 

Lucifer watches her, and his eyes drift down to her hand on his arm.

 

“Daniel shouldn’t have any more issues, Detective,” he says, turning back to him, “at least not celestial. He’ll still be a _douche_.”

 

Lucifer smiles a little to himself, then his smile fades. Chloe notices a strange sadness in his voice.

 

“Is everything … alright?” she asks him, moving her head to match his gaze. Something was off about him.

 

He turns to her, ignoring her question.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

 

She shakes her head, “No, but … I suppose I will be. He made it through the night,” she says, her eyes turning back to Dan, “That’s a start.”

 

“He’ll be fine, Detective,” Lucifer says, turning back to Dan.

 

She watches Dan for a second before turning her gaze back to Lucifer. Suddenly an intense feeling slides over her; she needed a hug.

 

She moves in and slides her arms beneath his, wrapping her arms around his torso. Her head falls onto his chest.

 

“I hope so,” she says, “I don’t think I could face Trixie if something happened to him.”

 

Lucifer stands there as if he hadn’t expected the hug. Quickly his muscles relax, and he wraps his arms around her body. They stand there in an embrace for what seems like forever. Lucifer sighs into her hug. It felt good … _real good._

 

“I felt so guilty,” she says, “for ignoring him like I did but … how was I supposed to know?”

 

“You couldn’t have known, Detective, “Lucifer says, “you are mortal ... _not God_.”

 

Chloe sighs.

 

“I just … I hope he can forgive me,” she says, “I could have done more.”

 

Chloe lays her head onto his chest, her eyes closed. It had been a long night, and despite getting a few hours of sleep, she still felt exhausted.

 

Suddenly her eyes pop open.

 

“Uh … Lucifer?” she says, pushing her head off his chest before peering down between them.

 

“Hmm?” he says, matching her gaze and peering down as well. Between them, jutting out like a flag pole from his waist is a _massive_ erection. It’s apparent that beneath these thin linen robes, he is wearing nothing.

 

“Oh,” he says, as if realizing why she had confusion in her voice.

 

Then he remembers he hasn’t had a proper erection since he came back from Hell.

 

“Oh!” he says happily.

 

Chloe blushes and pulls away from him, “I think … maybe you’re getting your wires crossed here,” she says.

 

Lucifer smiles, “Detective, you act like I have any say in this. It is clear it has a mind of its own.”

 

He reaches down and begins to rub himself over the fabric, it sends him into a deep memory from his youth of doing the same thing – albeit not in a hospital room. He turns his eyes to an open doorway of the nearby bathroom.

 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he says as he heads to the bathroom.

 

“Lucifer!” Chloe says, chastising him but in a low voice, “this is a hospital! You can’t-“

 

Suddenly, Daniel starts to cough heavily. Chloe turns to him, going from chastising Lucifer to great worry. He starts to cough more and more, and the beeping on a machine nearby starts to become faster. She looks on, not knowing what to do just as a nurse comes in.

 

“What’s happening?” Chloe says in a panic.

 

“He’s waking up,” the nurse says calmly. The nurse pressed a button on the machine before turning to Daniel.

 

His eyes slowly open, and they look at her, a ball of confusion spinning behind them.

 

“I need you to calm down, okay?” she says, placing a hand on his chest, “You’re in the hospital. We’re going to get that tube out, alright? I just need you to relax.”

 

Just then, another nurse comes in behind her and grabs two gloves off a nearby table. She walks around to the other side as Daniel continues to cough and unties the cloth around his mouth that holds the tube in place.

 

The first nurse presses a button, and the head of the bed slowly starts to rise.

 

“We’re going to pull it out now, alright? Just hold your breath,” the first nurse says.

 

“Get the pan,” the second nurse says. The first nurse nods and reaches onto a table nearby where a metal pan and towel sit. She grabs the pan and puts it below his chin.

 

“Okay, one … two … three,” the second nurse says.

 

The second nurse grabs the tube and slowly starts to pull it out.

 

The tube comes out, followed by a torrent of vomit as his gag reflex kicks in. Some of it gets caught in the neck collar he still wears. The second nurse holds the tube away from her body and rubs his back.

 

\--

 

Inside the hospital bathroom, Lucifer stands proudly in front of the toilet. He tilts his head down to get a view of what he is doing as his left-hand keeps the robes away from his body.

 

With his right, he firmly strokes his cock, his wrist twisting with each new glide across the tip of his penis. He begins to pant as soft moans escape his mouth.

 

He closes his eyes, trying to imagine the slew of material he’s used before, the excitement of ejaculation for the first time in a month not being lost on him.

 

Perhaps he could use the twins from Macedonia? Or the time he had a servant in the hallway of her lord’s castle as a dinner party carried on one room away? What about the young sailor he deflowered at a port in the Bahamas?

 

He has all the mental material he needs, but all he can hear is the sound of Daniel vomiting on the other side of the door.

 

He tries to block it out, he decides instead to remember the delightful sounds that young sailor made as he had his prostate stimulated for the first time.

 

Still, any imagery and scents he can muster are replaced only by the imagery of Daniel expelling the contents of his stomach into what sounds to be a metal bucket.

 

Quickly, his erection starts to wane.

 

“No, no, no!” he says, trying hard to breathe some life back into it by taking his left hand and holding it tight around the base of his dick, hoping to prevent any more blood from circulating back into his system.

 

He continues to stroke his penis, trying to get it to stay hard, but it’s a lost cause. He removes his hands as it goes completely flaccid. He lets out a frustrated grunt and fixes the bottom of his robe. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

 

If he hadn’t already been on deaths doorstep, he would _strangle_ Daniel.

 

He turns and opens the door to the bathroom and comes face to face with two nurses standing by Daniels bedside as he spits into a pan, his eyes watering and his nose leaking.

 

The first nurse slowly sets his head back down on to the bed, while the second carries the pan towards Lucifer. He slides out of her way, his body staying as flat to the wall as possible, and she dumps the pan carefully into the toilet before flushing. Lucifer turns back to see Chloe next to Daniel, holding his hand.

 

“Do you know where you are, sweety?” the first nurse asks as she wipes sweat from his brow with a towel.

 

He looks around the room momentarily. He tries to nod, but his neck feels stiff and pained.

 

He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out; his vocal cords raw and inflamed from the tube.

 

He looks confused, as if not understanding why he is there. He turns his eyes back to where the second nurse was standing, only to find Chloe standing next to him. He looks into her eyes, and suddenly it all comes back to him clearly. She can see the shift in his eyes when it dawns on him how he ended up here.

 

He begins to cry, and she shushes him.

 

“it’s okay,” she says, “you’re alright.”

 

He opens his mouth to speak again, but his voice is raw and strained.

 

“I – or- y,” he says, sounding as though it had been years since he last spoke. Tears flow freely down his face. She shushes him again, tears coming from her own eyes.

 

“It’s okay,” she says again, “You’re alright.”

 

She reaches up and rubs his hair again, it soothes him only momentarily. She leans in and presses her forehead against his as he silently weeps, snot bubbles forming in his nostrils. She sits back up and continues to caress his hair.

 

The second nurse comes out of the bathroom and looks at the first nurse. The first nurse nods and turns to Chloe and Daniel.

 

“As soon as the doctor is available, we’ll run some tests. For now, just take it easy, okay?” If you need anything, go ahead and press this button.”

 

She reaches beside the bed and grabs a remote and lays it next to Daniel’s hand.

 

She smiles, sympathetically at him, and walks around the bed towards the door. His eyes follow her up until she reaches the foot of his bed. Then his eyes jump to something else entirely, and his tears dry.

 

There at the edge of his bed stands Lucifer. Lucifer looks on, someplace else with a sadness in his eyes.

 

Dan’s eyes widen, and the machine begins to beep faster. He turns to Chloe to say something, but the words don’t come out.

 

She shushes him again.

 

“It’s okay, “she says, "Everything is fine.”

 

Dan stares at Lucifer, his eyes wide with horror.

 

“Detective,” Lucifer says, not even taking notice of the way that Dan is staring at him, “I'm going to go change into something more … modern.”

 

She pats Dan’s arm and steps away for a second to approach Lucifer.

 

“Okay,” she says, “thank you for coming.”

 

“I wish,” Lucifer responds disappointedly. She furrows her eyes as if she doesn’t understand.

 

She ignores whatever that is supposed to mean and moves to hug him again.

 

“Thank you,” she says, “for whatever you did.”

 

He wraps his arms around her again.

 

“I don’t know what I would have done if,” she says, stopping herself from finishing that sentence.

 

She turns her head to look up at him, and he looks down at her.

 

“I will do anything for you,” he says.

 

She smiles, her eyes moving down to his lips. She looks back towards his eyes before leaning in and planting a soft kiss on his lips. It stays there for a few seconds, filled with want. If it weren’t for the circumstances, they might have stayed longer, and her hands might have lingered.

 

She pulls her lips away from his and stares into his eyes. He feels it too. She smiles and turns back to Dan, who looks on in horror.

 

She turns to Lucifer, then her eyes slowly move down his waist. A small smile comes to her face, and a playfulness enters her eyes for the first time all night.

 

“Take care of that,” she says, nodding towards the crotch of his linen clothes, where another erection stands at attention, “before you poke someone’s eye out.”

 

Lucifer looks down again to see him pitching a tent, somewhat happy he would have a second chance at release.

 

She pulls away from Lucifer, and her hand falls slack against his chest. He pulls his hands up and cups himself in his hands. If he were going to do this, it was probably best if he got away from any sort of bodily fluids that weren’t his own.

 

He exits into the hallway and pauses before looking both ways. To his left, he sees the large desk of nurses who just stand around. Some talk with each other over a cup of coffee and hours old cake. Others answer phones, and still, others read through files and sort documents.

 

Lucifer quickly approaches the desk and catches the eye of two nurses drinking coffee.

 

“Pardon me,” he says, “where is your nearest single-stall lavatory?”

 

They look at each other, then look at him. The nurse standing on the outside of the desk lowers her eyes down to his hands and sees the outline of what he can’t cover with one hand, poking from beneath the linen cloth.

 

“I can help you,” she says, her neck suddenly becoming warm.

 

“No, I’m can show you where it is,” the other nurse says.

 

“Would you like some cake?” a voice behind him says. He turns quickly to see another nurse, a slice of cake on a plate in her hands. She dips her finger into the frosting and licks it off seductively; sucking the digit as if implying it was something else

 

His head tilts in curiosity and intrigue. He turns and sees the entire desk of nurses eyeballing him with that look; that look he has come to be so familiar with. The look that the Detective only recently had given him.

 

They were thinking about it; _all of them._  

 

He removes his hand, standing tall and proud. His mojo was back, and oh what a glorious sight it was.

 

He turns to the woman with the slice of cake and looks down at it. He takes it from her in glee and cuts a piece, sliding it into his mouth as he takes great joy in the way these women are looking at him.

 

He pauses and looks down at the cake; his eyes wide as if trying to figure out what this cake was made of.

 

It was _the best. Fucking. Cake_ he has ever had.

 

Quickly he dives in for another bite, shoving forkful after forkful into his mouth. It satiates something deep inside of him, and he moans into each bite.

 

When the cake is done, he licks his lips and a few bits of his fingers that have icing on them. He turns his eyes back to the desk to see the nurses all looking at him, suddenly very aware of the thoughts they just had about him. They avert their eyes in embarrassment.

 

Lucifer pauses and looks down to find his erection has gone completely flaccid again. He turns his gaze to the woman who offered him cake. She also averts her eyes and walks away.

 

He looks at the plate and sets it carefully on top of the desk. He pauses.

 

Just then, a paramedic passes, looks at Lucifer then turns his head to continue walking. He pauses, turns back to Lucifer, and smiles. Lucifer turns to him, noticing his odd behavior.

 

“You decided to come get checked out after all huh?” the paramedic says.

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows, turns to the nurses, and then turns back to the paramedic.

 

“Pardon?” he says.

 

“Yeah, you’re the guy we resuscitated yesterday, right? No pulse, lots of blood? Hey, did you ever find out where all that blood came from? I'd be curious to know.”

 

“Oh,” Lucifer says, realizing this is one of the paramedics from the day previous, “Right well … I suppose I should thank you.”

 

“Ah, don’t mention it,” the paramedic says, “all in a day's work.”

 

“Right ...” Lucifer says.

 

They stand there awkwardly for a moment before Lucifer nods and moves to walk past him.

 

“Hey,” he says stopping Lucifer. He looks around for a moment to make sure they are alone then turns back to Lucifer.

 

“I didn’t want to say anything while other people are around, but … I uhm… I recognized you from the meeting? You know for … “

 

He looks around then leans into Lucifer.

 

“Sexual addiction?”

 

Lucifer raises his eyes as if he just now realizes where he knows this guy from.

 

“Ah, yes, you had sex with the waitress,” he says, impressed.

 

The man nods, “Yes … we’ve all made mistakes.”

 

“Right, well … Good Luck,” Lucifer says, patting him on the shoulder then moving to walk past him again.

 

“Hey,” the man says, stepping in his way again, “I don’t mean to like … pry or anything but… you know my first meeting didn’t go well either. I mean, I didn’t go home with Zoe, but I did end up at a strip club so, I suppose it’s the same thing.”

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, his attention suddenly now on the man.

 

“I … I don’t mean to say what is right or what is wrong in the process, but … I know it only works if you work it. Right? So like … you should come back to the meeting, tell us your story. I, for one, would love to hear it.”

 

Lucifer nods, “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch your name.”

 

The man chuckles, “Well, that would be the anonymous part of sex addicts anonymous.”

 

Lucifer doesn’t laugh, and the man’s chuckle falls flat.

 

He clears his throat and holds out his hand to shake.

 

“The name’s Rick,” he says.

 

Lucifer nods but doesn’t shake his hand.

 

“Rick,” he says, as if solidifying that name to memory, “I appreciate your concern, but I was not there to seek help. Well, not for anything sex-related anyways. I’m doing very well in that department.”

 

Rick raises his eyebrows as if he doesn’t believe him.

 

“Okay,” he says.

 

Lucifer catches that look and a small fire lights in him, “Okay?”

 

“Well, I mean … I don’t think it's my place to give you advice but … usually, when a man has trouble with the body, it has something to do with the spirit. There is such thing as a mind-body connection, you know. They teach us that in the meetings… which is why you should come back some time.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” he asks, offended at the implication.

 

“Look, I don’t blame you … I wouldn’t touch Zoe with a ten-foot pole myself. That chick is _crazy_ , so … I don’t know, maybe that had something to do with … you know … not performing.”

 

Lucifer, suddenly angry, grabs the paramedic and pushes him against the wall.

 

“I’d watch the way you speak to me if I were you,” he says.

 

Hearing the commotion, Chloe comes out of Daniel’s room to find Lucifer man-handling the paramedic.

 

“Lucifer!” she says, running to him and pulling him off the paramedic.

 

She turns to Rick, recognizes him then turns back to Lucifer.

 

“What are you doing?” she asks him, her voice lowered as she pushes him to the other side of the hallway.

 

“He insulted me, Detective,” Lucifer says.

 

“Okay, is that reason for you to assault him?”

 

He looks down at her, fire starting to build in his eyes.

 

“Lucifer, calm down,” she says, a panic building in her voice.

 

“He shouldn’t insult me,” Lucifer says.

 

“Just stop, okay?” she says, watching the fire in his eyes grow. She places a hand on his chest and tries to lock eyes with him.

 

“Lucifer, just calm down, alright?"

 

Lucifer stares forward at Rick, who seems not at all afraid of this situation. Instead, he seems to have some pity there. It only makes Lucifer angrier. He begins to move forward, but Chloe pushes him back forcefully against the wall. He looks down at her, the fire raging in his eyes.

 

She reaches up and covers them.

 

"Calm down," she says, now annoyed, "It’s not a big deal. He’s … he’s just a human.”

 

Lucifer pauses. Chloe feels him taking a second to think about what she said, and cautiously raises her hand from his eyes. His eyes finally connect with hers. He sees her staring back at him with that look that held every secret he’d ever carry. That look that promised him safety and comfort within her arms.

 

“Okay?” she asks again. The fire in his eyes dies down, and he nods. She turns back to Rick, who looks on, annoyed. He raises his hands as if wiping them clean.

 

“Hey, I was just trying to help him,” he says as he walks away.

 

“Sorry!” Chloe says after him. She turns back to Lucifer, and their eyes meet.

 

“What did he say that got you so fired up?” she asks.

 

“He questioned my manhood, Detective.”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes. She _did not_ need this right now.

 

“Lucifer," she says, " What is going on with you? You've been acting strangely for days now. It's like everything pisses you off when it shouldn't. Are you sure you’re okay?” she asks.

 

There is a silence there as he turns his eyes to the side as if thinking about it. There was much to process. His mojo was back as were his erections, but they seemed sporadic at best.

 

His ash was missing, Amenadiel was on his shit list, and he had spoken to father and confirmed the thing he had feared the most; father didn’t love him.

 

He had threatened to destroy him.

 

He had told him his only purpose was to fulfill his will.

 

What father would say that to someone they loved?

 

Was he okay? He turns back to her, and their eyes meet. She required the truth, and that was all he could give her.

 

“I don’t know,” he says.

 

She sighs and turns her glance to Daniel’s room. He lays in bed, his eyes locked on both of them. She had ignored him once, and it had almost cost him his life. She couldn’t do that again. Whatever was going on with Lucifer would have to wait until Dan was better.

 

She turns back to him.

 

“Okay, well … once Dan is in a better place, we will talk about it … alright?”

 

He nods, and she pats his chest before walking away.

 

“I’ll call you,” she says before she disappears into the hospital room.

 

Lucifer watches on for a moment before he turns back to the nurse station. A few of them glance away, not making eye contact while others pretend he isn’t there.

 

He turns and walks down the hallway, his bare feet slapping against the white tile floors.

 

 


	13. Eggs and Milk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe spends time with Dan at the Hospital, Calmos experiences daily life in Hell, Lucifer confronts Amenadiel about his role in Dan’s attempt, Trixie gets a strange Talk about sex from Linda, Ezria kills for the first time and Linda asks Maze for her blessing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of attempted sexual assault
> 
> Work is coming to a slow point for the holidays so I might be able to give you faster -but shorter – updates after the next chapter. I’ve created a tumblr to help with keeping track which how the writing is going for those interested. You can check it out at hrfiction.tumblr.com. I already have half of next chapter written, so ... I can tell you the moment most of us have been waiting on happens very soon and I'm blushing thinking about it. Thanks again for hanging in their with me.

 

In hell, a determined Calmos walks down a busy pathway with water buckets hanging from the yoke around his neck. He ignores the passing glances of demons and continues walking forward, slipping between groups of demons going about their own business without a single drop of water being spilled from his buckets.

 

 

Calmos notices as a covered wagon, being pulled by strange hell beasts, stops outside of a building that looks like an old west saloon.

 

 

A demon reaches forward and unlocks a chained gate in the back of the wagon, before swinging the door open.

 

 

He hops onto the back of the wagon and grabs a human from inside the cage. The human screams and kicks the demon.

 

 

“No!” he says, a pained wail, “No Please!”

 

 

“You already know the deal,” the demon says, “fighting won’t help you now.”

 

 

The demon grabs the human and tosses him out of the wagon. He lands on the ground with a deep and heavy _thud_. The second the falling ash touches his skin, it sizzles and burns.

 

 

The man cries out in pain as the ash continues to fall onto him, burning his flesh. The demon hops out of the wagon and grabs the man by the arms. He then drags him beneath the cover of a nearby building.

 

 

“Get inside, you idiot. I don’t want to have to retrieve you again,” the demon says as he continues to drag the man into the building, behind closed doors.

 

 

Calmos turns down an alley between two buildings and walks over an array of trampled bones before entering another busy walkway. He looks both ways before he crosses and enters a building.

 

 

Inside he is immediately hit with the heat and scent of a thousand demons intertwined in the most intimate of acts. He approaches a nearby balcony and looks down at the center of this building, where he sees floor upon floor of sweaty, gyrating bodies. He turns and heads into a nearby room where a large basin sits.

 

 

He kneels down, setting the buckets on the ground and slipping the yoke from his shoulders. Then, he reaches down and uses both hands to grab the bucket and carefully dump the contents into the basin.

 

 

When the bucket is empty, he sets it by the yoke and picks up the full bucket. He walks away from the yoke, leaving the empty bucket and yoke in this room before he descends a set of stairs to the floor below him.

 

 

Again, despite his quick movements, he seems agile enough to not drop a single bit of the water in this bucket. In this new room, he steps around bodies deep in the throw of passion and heads straight to the back of this room where a giant basin sits.

 

 

He tries not to pay attention to what goes on around him, but his eyes wander, and he catches brief moments of body parts sliding over one another. He walks by as one male demon thrusts himself eagerly into another male demon whose face is buried between the thighs of a female demon.

 

 

He turns his eyes back forward, ignoring the tingling between his legs. He reaches the basin and sets the bucket of water on the ground.

 

 

He reaches up and tips the basin backward, allowing the murky water to cascade into a groove along the side of the wall. It falls down the slot then runs along the bottom of the wall, washing away remnants of old sweat and semen.

 

 

Right as the water passes and disappears into another chute that takes it to the floor below, a male demon runs over to the gulley in the floor and places his hand on a nearby wall as he spills his seed into the gutter where the water just ran by. He grunts and sighs before turning and heading back to a group of entangled bodies.

 

 

Calmos raises his lip in disgust and turns his head back to lay the basin flat on its pedestal. He reaches down to the bucket by his feet and elevates it with both hands, dumping the clean – and cold - water into the basin.

 

 

Satisfied, he turns and walks back through the mass of pulsating bodies towards the stairway.

 

 

Again, he tries not to see the sights around him, but curiosity gets the better of him, and his eyes wander. He accidentally locks eyes with a male demon who sits proudly as two female demons take turns sucking his penis.

 

 

“Hey, you,” the demon says.

 

 

Calmos freezes, a wave of panic falling over him as if he had been caught.

 

 

“Why don’t you put that bucket down and come join us?” the demon asks, “There is room for you on my face.”

 

 

Calmos shakes his head.

 

 

“I … I have work to do.”

 

 

“Oh come on, it looks as though you could use a break.”

 

 

The demon points to Calmos’s waist, where the outline of his half-erect penis pokes out from his thin linen pants.

 

 

The demon moves to stand, but the women won’t let him. They push him back down as if his body were not his own anymore. He looks down at them.

 

 

“Ladies,” he says, disappointed he can’t stand but pleased that they are taking their role seriously.

 

 

They don’t respond as they seem lost in their own world.

 

 

He turns back to Calmos.

 

 

 “I’ve yet to see you at your best,” the demon says, “In fact, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you in the sweat pits with us.”

 

 

“There are several floors here,” Calmos says, “I don’t imagine you could be on all of them at once.”

 

 

Calmos continues to walk forward, stepping over bodies carefully.

 

 

“I wouldn’t forget that body if you had. You aren’t one of those who doesn’t partake, I hope?” the man yells back, “Imagine what the others might think.”

 

 

Calmos scoffs, “I’ve lain with many women. Just because I don’t do it here doesn’t mean I don’t do it.”

 

 

The demon laughs a grim chuckle.

 

 

“You expect me to believe  _you_ enjoy the company of women?”

 

 

Calmos pauses in offense and turns around, “Pardon me?”

 

 

The demon looks down at the women servicing him.

 

 

“Does he look like he enjoys the company of women?” he asks them.

 

 

The women briefly look up at the demon then turn to Calmos. They look him up and down as if taking inventory of his form and stance. Then, they laugh and go back to taking turns licking the demon’s most intimate parts.

 

 

“See? Now, if it is men you are after, I’d love to show you what one feels like.”

 

 

Calmos recoils in disgust. This demon was  _definitely_  not his type.

 

 

“Your words don’t exactly fill me with want,” he says.

 

 

The demon fakes a frown, “If only there were some way to shut me up,” he says.

 

 

Then he opens his mouth as if insinuating there should be something in it.

 

 

Calmos scoffs and turns back around, continuing to step over bodies on his way to the exit.

 

 

The demon laughs at him as if taking pleasure in his aversion.

 

 

Calmos turns and leaves the room, and immediately turns up the stairwell to his right. When he gets to the top of the stairs, he briefly looks behind him to make sure he isn’t being followed.

 

 

Satisfied, he turns and enters the room where he had placed his yoke and bucket. He kneels down and attaches the empty buckets to his yoke.

 

 

This is why  _he_  delivers the water here and not the young ones. He shakes his head in disgust. He couldn’t imagine one of the younger demons being able to put up with this nonsense.

 

_As if._

 

 

As if he would spend any amount of time with that demon, let alone involve himself intimately.

Sure he was a demon, but there were no laws to say that demons didn’t have standards.

 

 

He kneels down and drapes the yoke effortlessly over both shoulders before exiting the room and then exiting the building, his eyebrows still furrowed in anger.

 

 

\--

 

 

On the shore of the dark lake, an unconscious Daniel lays still. Suddenly, he sits straight up, gasping for air, and catches his breath as he slowly begins to realize where he is again. Once he recognizes this place, his eyes turn to the placid lake in front of him, a sudden lump in his throat. A deep fear crawls across his skin and sets every hair on his body on edge.

 

 

_He’s been here before._

 

 

He gets up slowly, not even worried about brushing the lightly colored sand off his clothing. His eyes stay locked on the lake, knowing what lays beneath it.

 

 

He takes a step backward, slowly and silently, never turning his back to the lake. He walks backward, his eyes locked onto it, waiting.

 

 

Then his toes feel a new texture, and he briefly looks down to find tall grass beneath his feet. He turns his back to the lake, momentarily to gaze into the open field of grass behind him. A small breeze kicks up, and the wind sways the tall grass back and forth.

 

 

It seemed peaceful and serene, but behind that peace was a fear he’d only seen in movies or in dreams. He pauses. 

 

 

_Was this a dream?_

 

 

He turns back to the lake and finds it still placid. He listens as if waiting for something to happen, but it is silent. He relaxes his shoulders slightly, letting out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

 

 

He turns back to the field and begins walking through it. His feet collapse the grass beneath them as he strides through the open field. The moon above is bright and moves alongside him as if watching.

 

 

He doesn’t notice this, however, as his eyes stay locked on a dim light on the other side of the field. He continues to approach it, still wondering how he ended up here – of all places.

 

 

Suddenly he pauses in his tracks. Something doesn’t feel right. The wind dies down, and he’s left with a silent field. A strange stillness that he understands and recognizes. Something terrible was about to happen. He notices movement in his peripheral vision, and he cautions a glance to the side. His eyes widen as he sees a tall, dark figure standing in the grass next to him, just a few feet away.

 

 

It stares at him, _through_  him even.

 

 

He pauses, not knowing what to do.

 

 

It continues to look at him before tilting its head in curiosity.

 

 

Suddenly wings pop out behind it; full, rigid, and  _dark._

 

 

Dan turns to face it, his heartbeat quickening. He takes a step back as the figure begins to laugh. It’s a deep and sinister laugh that doesn’t sound human at all.

 

 

Dan steps backward in the grass as the figure steps forward.

 

 

“Stay right there!” Dan says, holding his hand out.

 

 

The figure continues to laugh, moving forward with confident and determined strides. The moon above hits its face just right and illuminates half of the figure’s face. He looks just like Lucifer.

 

 

He furrows his eyebrows, “Lucifer?” he asks.

 

 

The figure pauses, its laughter stopped.

 

 

The sickening smile on its face falls flat, and its eyes narrow. It tilts its head as if wondering why he would call him that name.

 

 

Suddenly, an impossibly bright light hits the dark figure like lightning, and Dan turns to shield his eyes.

 

 

Suddenly everything is dark, and he opens his eyes and turns back to the figure only to see no one there.

 

 

Dan stands there, aghast and confused.

 

 

 _What the fuck?_  He thinks.

 

 

He pauses, waiting to see if anything will happen before he steps forward to where the figure had been standing. He looks down and finds nothing, just the collapsed grass from where it had been standing.

 

 

He looks around for a moment then turns back to the moon.

 

 

It is now he feels it.

 

 

_The moon is watching him._

 

 

\--

 

 

Linda lays face down in her bed as an arm droops over the side of her bed; her face  _smashed_ into the pillow. Her hair is disheveled and falls over her face into long unruly strings. A child-like giggle pierces her ears, and she stirs momentarily before pulling her arm up and crossing it beneath her body. She turns her head to the side and smacks her lips before she is still again.

 

 

 Another giggle fills her ears, and her eyes slowly open.

 

 

Inside Linda’s kitchen, Trixie and Maze sit at the counter, both enjoying a bowl of cereal.

 

 

“Lesson of the story is?” Maze asks.

 

 

“Always aim for the knees,” Trixie finishes.

 

 

Maze nods.

 

 

“Good girl.”

 

 

The door to Linda’s bedroom opens behind them, and they turn to see Linda shuffling out of her the open doorway, a white robe wrapped around her body. Maze turns to Trixie and leans in.

 

 

“Uh, Oh.  _It has awoken_. I think we’ve been caught,” she says.

 

 

Trixie giggles.

 

 

“Maze?” Linda asks, “How did you –“

 

 

She pauses, her brain answering her question for her.

 

 

Trixie turns to Linda, a frown on her face.

 

 

“Sorry,” she says.

 

 

Linda smiles and reaches out to rub Trixie’s back.

 

 

“It’s okay,” she says, looking up at Maze, “It’s just Maze.”

 

 

“I would like to point out that while you were sleeping, I made the child breakfast. So, you know … you’re welcome.” Maze says.

 

 

Linda walks around the counter and glances at the bowl of half-eaten cereal in front of Trixie and laughs.

 

 

“I can see you put in  _so_  much work,” Linda says sarcastically.

 

 

Suddenly Linda’s phone rings, and she reaches into her robe to pull it out.

 

 

“Hello?” she says, reaching into her fridge to get out eggs and milk.

 

 

“Hey Linda,” Chloe says, tiredness in her voice, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

 

 

“Heyyy,” Linda says, closing the fridge quickly and setting the items on a nearby counter before walking away from the kitchen.

 

 

“No, not at all,” she continues, “I was just getting ready to make some breakfast.”

 

 

She stands nearby in a small hallway that leads to the washing room and lowers her voice.

 

 

“How is he?” Linda asks.

 

 

Chloe sighs on the other line.

 

 

“He’s… okay. He’s awake, and the Doctors say that’s a good sign but … you know, we don’t know the extent of the damage yet.”

 

 

Linda shakes her head, leans against the wall.

 

 

“I’m so sorry,” she says.

 

 

“Yeah, me too,” Chloe says, “The doctors say he might regain mobility, but he might not, it’s all so … I don’t know. It’s just … a lot.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Linda says, “what about you? How are you holding up?”

 

 

The line is silent for a moment as Chloe parses that question.

 

 

“I don’t know … I just … It still feels like I’m living in some weird waking nightmare. I feel so happy that I can speak with him and be with him, but at the same time, I just feel so … guilty.”

 

 

Linda sighs and nods.

 

 

“It’s a lot to handle, but you are doing a great job. Don’t fall into that trap of blaming yourself. No one is at fault here, sometimes things just happen.”

 

 

“I guess,” she says, a tone of disbelief in her voice. It is clear she wants to believe Linda, but something isn’t allowing her to take that message in as deep as she needs to.

 

 

The line is silent again for a moment.

 

 

“Listen, Chloe. If you need more time, Trixie can stay with me a little longer.”

 

 

“Yeah?” Chloe asks,” What about your plans? Don’t you have that spa thing this weekend?”

 

 

Linda guffaws, “It’s just some stupid spa appointment. I can reschedule it.”

 

 

Chloe lets go a long, stressed sigh.

 

 

“I don’t know, I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

 

 

“Nonsense,” Linda says, “besides … I still kind of have to have  _the talk_  with Trixie.”

 

 

“ _Oh, God_ , Linda … honestly, you don’t have to. I’ll probably spend one more night here with Dan and pick her up tomorrow to get her ready for school on Monday. I … I can talk to her about it then.”

 

 

“No, no, it’s fine. Besides, I don’t intend to have children anytime soon, so … it’s kind of like she’s our community daughter.”

 

 

Chloe smiles, “We’ll see if you still feel that way when she hits puberty.”

 

 

“Yeah, no, I do not envy you,” Linda responds.

 

 

Linda laughs, and the line goes into a comfortable silence.

 

 

“Thank you,” Chloe says, “for everything.”

 

 

“Don’t mention it,” Linda says.

 

 

“How is she anyway?” Chloe asks.

 

 

Linda turns back to the kitchen to see Maze and Trixie talking and laughing.

 

 

She turns back to the hallway in front of her.

 

 

“She’s good.”

 

 

“Good,” Chloe says, “that makes one of us. I feel like my mind is just on a never-ending roller coaster of ‘ _what the fuck_.’”

 

 

Linda nods, “Well, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you,” Linda says, “You know that, right? No charge.”

 

 

Chloe lets go a light-hearted giggle. It’s airy and doesn’t sound like she is letting it free easily, but it is there.

 

 

Linda smiles, “As long as I still get free drinks at LUX, of course. By the way, how are things with you and Lucifer? Last time I spoke with him, he was having another one of his moments.”

 

 

Chloe sighs, “Things are okay. I’m… I don’t know. It’s difficult,” she says,

“Something is clearly bothering him, and I haven’t really gotten a clear cut answer on what it is. I think … I don’t know I could be crazy, but I think he’s upset with me because we haven’t… you know, had sex. Well, not really anyway.”

 

 

Linda groans and switches the phone between her hands, “Don’t worry about him,” she says, “I can guarantee you it probably has nothing to do with you. You know how he is. “

 

 

“Yeah,” Chloe says, “but it feels like that’s always the case. I’m just starting to wonder if there will ever be a reprieve from all of that.”

 

 

Linda nods, and the line goes silent.

 

 

“Everyone has their issues, Chloe,” she says, “he just needs a little more … time than others. He’s not used to all of this.”

 

 

“Mm,” Chloe says, sounding as if she were thinking about that.

 

 

“Just treat it like any normal relationship, and …the rest you can figure out as you get there.”

 

 

Chloe lets go a long-exasperated sigh as if that conversation didn’t help her, but she was glad to get it off her chest.

 

 

“I should probably go,” she says, “I want to be there when Dan wakes up again.”

 

 

“Alright,” Linda says, “Keep me posted, okay?”

 

 

“I’ll call you and let you know about tomorrow,” Chloe continues.

 

 

Linda nods, “Alright.”

 

 

“Bye,” Chloe says.

 

 

“Bye,” Linda replies.

 

 

Linda presses the end call button then pauses, thinking momentarily about all that is going on. She then slips the phone into the pocket of her robe and puts on a smile.

 

 

She turns around to see that Maze has a complete row of knives on the counter and seems to be drilling Trixie on them.

 

 

She points to one, and Trixie says, “Serrated Tip Point.”

 

 

Maze nods and points to another one.

 

 

Trixie says, “Smooth Trailing point.”

 

 

Linda continues to the counter, where she placed the eggs and milk.

 

 

“Who wants pancakes?” she asks.

 

 

They both turn to her.

 

 

Trixie says, “Ooh! Me!”

 

 

“I’d be down for that,” Maze says.

 

 

Linda smiles and turns to the cupboard to get a box of pancake mix, “Knives off the table,” she says.

 

 

Maze looks up at her, then at Trixie before rolling her satchel of knives up and tying them.

 

 

“Why do you even have those here?” Linda says, turning around and bringing the packet to her milk and eggs.

 

 

Maze shrugs, “You never know.”

 

 

Linda smiles and shakes her head before reaching down into the cupboard beneath the counter and pulling out a mixing bowl. Her eyes trail up to Trixie temporarily then back down to the bowl.

 

 

“That was your mom,” Linda says to Trixie,” She uhm … she’s still caught up in work stuff, so she’s going to be gone for another day.”

 

 

Trixie frowns and slumps in her chair.

 

 

“Which means,” Linda continues, trying to pump some energy into her statement, “You get to stay with me for another day! We can do all the things we didn’t do last night.”

 

 

Trixie nods and reaches for the spoon in her cereal bowl. She plays around with the cereal, a disinterest lying just behind her eyes.

 

 

Linda turns her eyes to Maze and Maze just stares at her. Linda raises her eyebrows and nods her head over to Trixie as if to say something.

 

 

“What?” Maze asks.

 

 

Linda sighs, “Maybe you could join us for the day, Maze?”

 

 

Maze looks at Linda as if she were joking. Then she turns to Trixie, who looks at her as if expecting her to say yes –  _hoping_  she will say yes.

 

 

She sighs and looks away from then, “Fine. It’s not like I have _anything else_ to do on a Saturday.”

 

 

Trixie smiles, suddenly excited again.

 

 

Linda smiles then reaches for the packet of pancake mix.

 

 

“Maybe you can finally show me how to throw a ninja star,” Trixie says to Maze.

 

 

Before Maze can even respond, Linda interrupts.

 

 

“No, absolutely not. I want to return you to your mother in the condition I received you, which means no knives, no weapons, and definitely _no_ throwing sharp objects.”

 

 

Maze rolls her eyes and turns around to face the living room, her back leaning against the counter. She turns to Trixie and winks.

 

 

Trixie smiles.

 

 

\--

 

 

In his penthouse, Lucifer is still wearing the gold and white robes from the Silver City as he softly tickles the keys on his piano. It is a beautiful but haunting melody. He plays smoothly, but his mind is somewhere else – his eyes staring forward into nothingness.

 

 

They are sad and distant.

 

 

On his balcony, Amenadiel slowly descends from the sky, his feet gently landing on the concrete. He lowers his wings before cautiously stepping forward into the penthouse.

 

 

Lucifer’s eyes slowly drift up to him, his gaze still lost and begging for answers. When they lock on Amenadiel and his mind processes what he sees, he suddenly stops playing. The sadness in his eyes is replaced by burning blue anger;  _a hatred._

 

 

He scoffs and stands from his piano, a sickening tone to his words.

 

 

“You have some nerve,” he says as he moves away from his piano.

 

 

Amenadiel slowly walks forward, ready to plead his case before he pauses. His eyes immediately drop to the robes Lucifer is wearing and widen in horror.

 

 

“After all you’ve done, you still care to show your face here?” Lucifer says, “Are you even aware of the mess you caused? Of the lengths, I had to go to fix  _your_  mistakes?”

 

 

His voice rises in volume as he speaks, a profound anger coming out. Amenadiel doesn’t hear that though, he only sees the robes.

 

 

“Where did you get those?” he asks, pointing to the robes. He already knows the answer, but he needs to hear it for it to be real.

 

 

“Or Is this just some game to you too? To you all? Am I some sort of joke to you? Do you even care that Daniel almost died?” Lucifer says, slowly approaching Amenadiel.

 

 

 “Now, I don’t care too much for him either but the Detective… if something happened to him….”

 

 

“Those robes,” Amenadiel says again, only focused on one thing,” Tell me you didn’t-“

 

 

“You had  _one_  job,” Lucifer says, continuing to approach Amenadiel as Amenadiel slowly backs away.

 

He’s loud now, shouting and angry – damn near screaming – in Amenadiel’s face.

 

 

He reaches out and grabs Amenadiel by the collar before pulling him forward and using all his strength to throw him to the side and against the bookcase.

 

 

Amenadiel slams into the bookcase, dislodging books as they call to the floor. He catches himself and manages to stay standing, but it is clear he is not interested in putting up a fight.

 

 

His interest is only singular, he needs to know the answer to his question. 

 

 

“We had an agreement that you would wipe his memory, then clear all traces of Charlotte from his life, and you didn’t! Was it to make me look like a fool?! Was it subterfuge?! Was it to hurt her? Or are you just  _that_  stupid?!”

 

 

 

Amenadiel only screams back at him, “Those robes, Lucifer!” he says, “Where did you get those robes?!”

 

 

“Where do you think?!” Lucifer says handling the robes like they were some costume, “because of  _you_ I had to go to the Silver City. Yet again, I have to come behind you and clean up your mess. And what thanks do I get for that?”

 

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, no. He braces himself on the bookcase as he slowly slides to sit on the floor, his eyes wide and staring into the distance. He was meant to stop Lucifer from going to the Silver City, not be the reason he had to.

 

 

_This wasn’t the plan._

 

 

He pauses as a sickening realization falls over him.

 

 

_Or was it?_

 

 

Did Father know this? Was this … part of the plan?  _His_  plan?

 

 

Had Amenadiel allowed himself to be manipulated? Furthermore, had Father manipulated him? He had always known Father was capable of that, but when it was aimed at Lucifer, it made sense. 

 

 

Lucifer was stubborn and selfish. Sometimes he needed to hear what he wanted for things to run smoothly, but … Amenadiel has always been a faithful child; _obedient_.

 

 

Why would Father do this to him?

 

 

“For all you’ve said to insist you were here to help me, you’ve done nothing but cause me grief,” Lucifer continues, “Has that been your goal all along?! To make me out to be a liar?!”

 

 

Amenadiel doesn’t respond. He just stares forward, his mind reeling.

 

 

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Nothing to say? You know, I should have known you and Father were up to something. Perhaps that is my fault for being so  _naive._ Even after all these years, to think any of my siblings would pull through or support me on anything. Especially things that concern mortals. How ironic that you are considered the Angel and you and your ilk would be so content with needless suffering. But I’m the devil? Right?  _I’m the bad guy_.”

 

 

Lucifer pauses and looks at Amenadiel, expecting an answer or something to suggest that he was wrong. This was a fight that he could win, but it was also a place to put his anger and frustration. Instead, he gets nothing as Amenadiel stares forward, his eyebrows furrowed, and tears coming to his eyes.

 

 

Lucifer scoffs again, realizing Amenadiel isn’t listening to him.

 

 

_What use was it to punish an Angel for following the word of God?_

 

 

“I trusted you, Amenadiel,” Lucifer says, kicking himself for allowing yet another brother to disappoint him.

 

 

 “And perhaps that is my fault. No matter how many times I give you the benefit of the doubt you always prove to me you are nothing more than a child seeking approval and affection. I have none of that for you Amenadiel.”

 

 

He was wearing the uniform of an Angel, and it reminded him of a much younger version of himself, a young Samael. He was a fool then and a fool now it seems.

 

 

“It’s my fault,” Amenadiel says silently, his eyes staring out into nothing.

 

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to him, staring as if Amenadiel were speaking the obvious.

 

 

“Yes,” he says unabashedly, “or had you not been listening to me?”

 

 

“You are changing, and I can’t do anything to stop it,” he says, “maybe it’s my fault you are changing in the first place.”

 

 

Lucifer pauses. That is not what he was talking about.

 

 

Amenadiel turns his face towards the balcony, thinking out loud.

 

 

“Perhaps Father knew all along, “Amenadiel says, “that I would be the one to force you to go back. I asked him… I asked him what I must do to prevent your change, and he just …”

 

 

He pauses and turns back to Lucifer. Lucifer stares on, his anger dissipating as he starts to realize what Amenadiel is saying.

 

 

“I wanted so badly to save you, and he told me what I wanted to hear. He made me believe that I could stop it; that I could change his prophecy. But … he  _used_ me. All this time, I thought I was helping, that I was preventing his prophecy, but … maybe it’s my fault it exists to begin with.”

 

 

A tear rolls down Amenadiels face, the weight of what he is saying hovering over him like a dark cloud. He had spent an eternity wondering how an Angel could defy Father’s word, wondering what chip was on Lucifer’s shoulder that made him hate Father so much. Now, at this moment, he didn’t have to wonder. He was experiencing it firsthand.

 

 

Lucifer sighs and turns around to approach the bar, “Welcome to the Club, Dear Brother. Sorry it took you so long to realize we were pawns.”

 

 

He pours a drink for himself, chugs it back, then pours two more.

 

 

“Our Father is a maniacal, manipulative and unfortunately an all-knowing being,” he says, walking the two drinks across the living room towards the bookcase. He approaches a still sitting Amenadiel and holds one of the glasses out to him. Amenadiel looks at him and waves him off, he had no appetite for anything right now.

 

 

Lucifer shrugs and moves to sit on the sofa nearby, both drinks in hand. He pulls one up to his lips and takes a sip. The other one he places on a side table at the end of the sofa.

 

 

“Nothing happens in his world that is not to his liking. Perhaps that is why you were always his favorite. Because you listen without question.”

 

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “I am an angel, and so are you Lucifer. Our duty is to serve him.”

 

 

Lucifer leans forward, “Yes, but to what end, Amenadiel? To be used as a pawn to hurt others? To be manipulated and lied to? You said it yourself, he  _told_  you what you wanted to hear. What kind of a  _Father_ does that? Would it not have been best to just tell you nothing could be done? To not waste your time digging through the sand of his rock garden only to have him rake it the moment you leave?”

 

 

“So you believe me? You believe the prophecy?” Amenadiel asks, eager to salvage anything from his work.

 

If he could not save the status of his changing relationship with his father, perhaps he could salvage  _Lucifer changing_ entirely.

 

 

Lucifer sighs and sits back.

 

 

“I cannot deny that certain things have … been altered,” he says, a tinge of loss in his voice, “but who needs celestial traits when I have someone who … who loves me, devil face, and all.”

 

 

“You weren’t there, Luci. It sounded  _bad_.”  

 

 

Lucifer crosses his legs, sipping on his drink again, a visible disinterest in whatever he was told by God.

 

 

“He already lied to you once,” Lucifer says, “what makes you think anything else he told you wasn’t what you wanted to hear?”

 

 

“He didn’t just tell me, Luci. He told everyone.”

 

 

Lucifer pauses.

 

 

“What? What do you mean, everyone?”

 

 

Amenadiel stands, “He summoned our brothers and sisters to the great hall and told us the prophecy. He said you would change, that you would visit the Silver City three times, that you would surrender and then … the great war.”

 

 

Amenadiel looks down at the robes Lucifer still wears.

 

 

“You’ve already visited once.”

 

 

Lucifer scoffs and uncrosses his legs before standing.

 

 

 “If it makes you feel any better brother,” he says, “I have no plans of going back to that place, let alone fighting for a spot there.”

 

 

“Then why are you still wearing the robes?” Amenadiel asks.

 

 

Lucifer looks down then back to Amenadiel. He has no answer for that, or rather he does but doesn’t know what it means to feel so empty, so lost, so … alone.

 

 

 _This was all a lie_ , a voice screams in the back of his mind.

 

 

The penthouse, the money … _the Detective_.

 

 

He had been given it all, nothing was  _earned_.

 

 

He closes his eyes, locking that feeling out.

 

 

“I was just …. processing all that had happened,” he says, opening his eyes, “It had been so long since I’ve worn these robes I … I remembered all the times when we were younger.”

 

 

Lucifer lets go a soft smile that fades into a frown.

 

 

“I suppose part of me felt a sense of longing,” Lucifer continues, raising his glass.

 

 

He turns to Amenadiel, who watches him with that look of pity he hates. He inhales and takes a large gulp from the glass in his hand before turning and heading back to the bar.

 

 

“But …that place is not my home anymore and perhaps It never really was,” Lucifer says.

 

 

Lucifer turns to Amenadiel, his voice back to being confident and stiff.

 

 

“I did what anyone in my position would do,” he says,” It is unfair to involve mortals in our affairs unwillingly. I see that now.”

 

 

Amenadiel nods and crosses his arms, “I suppose so,” he says, his eyes drifting off into nothingness.

 

 

“I’m still upset with you for your oversight,” he says, “but … I suppose in this instance you were merely – and ironically – the messenger.”

 

 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Amenadiel says.

 

 

Lucifer sets the glass on the bar counter and turns to Amenadiel.

 

 

“It is not supposed to. I have no interest in your  _feelings,_ Amenadiel.” Lucifer says.

 

 

The room dips into silence, and Amenadiel nods.

 

 

“I will visit Daniel this evening when no one is around,” he says, an implication in his voice.

 

 

“You can’t,” Lucifer says, “He’s paralyzed. If you heal him overnight, it will look …”

 

 

“Miraculous?” Amenadiel asks.

 

 

“Suspicious,” Lucifer corrects.

 

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, not understanding.

 

 

“I imagine Daniel’s mind is still very fragile,” Lucifer says, “We don’t know what kind of damage was done from his celestial leak. His physical wounds are easy to fix, but … I fear the emotional and mental wounds will take a little longer.”

 

 

Amenadiel nods. Lucifer was right.

 

 

“As horrible as it sounds,” Lucifer continues, “his limited movement might be the thing that will save him. If he could walk, who knows where he might disappear to, or what he might do.”

 

 

“Or who he might harm,” Amenadiel says.

 

 

Lucifer nods, “I have no reason to believe he might try to hurt himself again, but until we know how deep those wounds go …it might be best we take time on this one.”

 

 

 “Okay, so I can start with the arms. I don’t have to do it all in one go. Let me _fix_  this.”

 

 

Lucifer nods and turns back to his bar, “I’ve done my part, Brother,” Lucifer says.

 

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

 

“But do not fail me again,” Lucifer says. He looks at Amenadiel through the bar mirror, his eyes sharp with insinuation he may do more than push him against a wall the next time.

 

 

Lucifer’s eyes drop down to see himself still wearing the robes from the Silver City. It reminds him of what it felt like to go back, what it felt like to speak with Father, what it felt like to … know  _he_  was the monster; that he was easy to …

 

 

Amenadiel turns and walks towards the balcony.

 

 

His eyes drift back up to Amenadiel, and he turns around.

 

 

“We finally have a common enemy,” Lucifer says, walking back to the sofa, “I believe that is grounds for celebration.”

 

 

He reaches down with one hand and grabs the drink he set on the side table. He holds it out for Amenadiel.

 

 

Amenadiel let’s go a half-smile that turns into a frown.

 

 

“I … I am an Angel. I follow orders from someone I am supposed to be able to trust. If I can’t trust my own Father, the master of creation … what does that mean?”

 

 

Lucifer nods, “It’s not that bad,” he says, “you get used to it after a while.”

 

 

 “I think I just need to be alone … for now.”

 

 

Amenadiel turns to leave, and Lucifer sighs, a new host of emotions bubbling to the surface.

 

 

 _Alone_ , he thinks to himself. His eyes turn to the glass of whiskey he poured for Amenadiel. He brings it to his lips and pauses.

 

 

What about him? He didn’t want to be alone.

 

 

He downs the glass and looks at it for a moment noticing his reflection in the glass.

 

 

He was an older man now, rife with a millennium of experience that came with that. Of happiness, of sorrow, of experiencing everything that the mortal world had to offer. He had been with so many mortals, and demons but … maybe he had always felt the way he felt now.

 

 

Somewhere deep inside, perhaps he had always felt … _alone._

 

 

And now he was here, standing in the robes of his youth and remembering how it felt to lay carefree beneath the stars in the observatory; to feel as if his life had a higher purpose; to feel whole, hopeful …  _loved_.

 

 

Yes, he had always felt alone.  _What if he would always be alone?_

 

 

His eyes drift up to the open balcony and past it into the cityscape. Despite it being a bright, beautiful day, he couldn’t help but feel it had become gloomy.

 

 

Before earth, it was easier to feel nothing, to be okay with the darkness that surrounded him, but now he could feel it, now it was everywhere and hard to ignore.

 

 

 _He was alone_. He was an Angel in man’s world.

 

 

Yes, perhaps he would always be alone.

 

 

Maybe he  _deserved_ to be alone.

 

 

His phone that sits on the edge of the piano starts to ring and startles him, knocking him out of that mental spiral. He turns to it and pauses for a moment before turning back to look at his reflection in the glass. He sets the glass down and walks over to his piano to pick up his phone.

 

 

It’s Chloe.

 

 

He smiles to himself softly and picks it up.

 

 

“Detective,” he tries to say happily, his voice betraying him, “I … was just thinking about you.”

 

 

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me,” she says. He can hear the small smile she wears in her voice.

 

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Darling?” he asks.

 

 

Inside the Hospital, Chloe sits in the hallway outside of Dan’s room. She turns briefly to his room to see two nurses inside. One preps a washcloth by dumping it into a basin of water. The other approaches the door and gently shuts it to give them privacy.

 

 

“I uhm … had a moment away from Dan,” she says, turning back to glance down the long hallway, “I thought I would call you and check-in.”

 

 

“Ah, I suppose you were curious to know the result of my spontaneous erections?” he asks on the other line, his voice slipping into the charm and seduction, but there is something else behind it.

 

 

It is fake and airy like he is putting on a show versus genuinely feeling it.

 

 

She rolls her eyes, and a small smile comes to her face, “No, Lucifer. I was not.”

 

 

“Well, either way, I am sad to say I came home and attempted to pleasure myself to no avail.”

 

 

She shakes her head, “That’s not what I was calling about, “she says, trying not to sound intrigued by his statements.

 

 

“I was just … well, you were acting a bit strange this morning,” she says, “I was just making sure everything was okay. You know, even with all that is going on, you can talk to me if you need me, right?”

 

 

In his penthouse, Lucifer stands in the middle of his living room. Still donned in his Silver City robes, he glances around his penthouse. It is still and empty now with Amenadiel gone.

 

 

“I uhm …,” he says, moving to sit down onto his sofa, “I don’t know Detective. I’m starting to believe it to be unfair I burden you with my problems. Especially when Daniel is-“

 

 

“I’m trying,” she says, interrupting as she turns her head back to his room.

 

 

“I’m trying so hard to think about him and just him, but …,” she continues.

 

 

She sits up in her seat and rolls her shoulders, trying to release a tenseness in her body that refuses to budge, “It’s hard to worry about him when I keep thinking of you. When I keep worrying about why I had to keep you from assaulting a paramedic.”

 

 

“Detective, he insulted me.”

 

 

“It’s more than that, Lucifer, and you know it,” she says.

 

 

The line is silent. He doesn’t know what to say to that. She lets go of a tired sigh.

 

 

“I’m so… drained,” she says, her voice low as she leans down and places her hand onto her head.

 

 

“I just … I need to know I can count on you, that you won’t disappear on me again. I can’t… I don’t think I can take you disappearing on me again.”

 

 

“Never,” he says.

 

 

In the hallway, she turns her view back to Dan’s closed-door then sits up, leaning her back against the chair and her head against the wall behind it.

 

 

“So what is it Lucifer? What is bothering you?”

 

 

“Just more family drama, Detective. Nothing I can’t handle,” he says.

 

 

“Well, I’d prefer you handle it instead of taking it out on some poor Paramedic,” Chloe responds.

 

 

“Detective,” he says, the annoyance in his voice that she doesn’t understand, “He insulted me.”

 

 

“ _So?_  So what? You can’t control things that happen to you, Lucifer,” she says, “None of us can. But … we can control how we react to it. So he insulted you, fine … I get that it. But it was  _you_ who decided to act the way you did, not him. You made that decision.”

 

 

He pauses. He was starting to hate that she was right.

 

 

“I see,” he says, his eyes dropping.

 

 

Perhaps he wasn’t made to be here; in man’s world. He was always wrong. It was always  _his_ fault. He looks around his empty penthouse and suddenly finds it doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t spark the same joy. It doesn’t feel like …  _home_.

 

 

“I understand,” he says, “It won’t happen again.”

 

 

“I wish I could believe you when you say that,” she says, “but … I don’t know if you can make those kind of promises anymore.”

 

 

Lucifer sighs and turns his eyes out towards the balcony. 

 

 

The line is silent. 

 

 

It wasn’t her responsibility to fix it for him. She would always have some celestial war or issue at her feet, as long as he was by her side. If she were fatigued now … what did that mean for their future? Did he ... want a future with her? 

 

 

If he did, she didn’t need to know everything. She didn’t need to learn of all the things outside her world. She didn’t need to know about that feeling spinning deep inside him, the one that was getting harder to ignore. The one that said this was all a farce, it was all an illusion,  _Father’s_  illusion.

 

 

Father had brought the Detective into Lucifer’s life, and he had made her love him. Lucifer had dropped part of the shield he had been carrying so long and here he was now, wondering If it were possible for her to love him without Father’s interference.

 

 

Wondering if it was  _fair_  for her.

 

 

Wondering why he wanted to continue to be lied to.

 

 

“So what is it, Lucifer?” she says softly, “What is bothering you?”

 

 

The line is momentarily silent again before he calmly speaks up.

 

 

“Its … not your concern, Detective,” he says, “I can handle it on my own.”

 

 

She sighs.

 

 

“You don’t have to do everything alone Lucifer. It’s okay to ask for help.”

 

 

He pauses. It was starting to feel like he was talking to Dr. Linda.

 

 

“Are you my girlfriend or my therapist?” he asks angrily.

 

 

The line is silent.

 

 

In the hospital, Chloe sits up in her chair, her eyes suddenly wide.

 

 

“What did you just say?” she asks.

 

 

“I’m sorry, Detective,” he says a sudden rage building in him again, “I … I can’t have this conversation right now.”

 

 

The phone clicks, and she sits there, a ball of confusion running around in her head. She’s upset, she’s  _definitely_  angry. Part of her wants to call him back and curse him out. Part of her wants to name him all the names he is acting like right now; childish, dickish … a _downright fucking asshole._

 

 

The other part, however, can’t stop thinking about that word.

 

 

_Girlfriend._

 

 

He had said it so smoothly. He had said it so _angrily_.

 

 

Did he even realize he said it?

 

 

The door behind her clicks, and she turns to see two nurses walk out of Dan’s room. She slips the phone into her pocket and stands.

 

 

They toss her a gentle smile as they leave.

 

 

“You can go back in now,” a nurse says with a soft smile.

 

 

Chloe nods. She enters the doorway of the room, and Dan turns his eyes to her.

 

 

A small smile comes over his face.

 

 

“Hey,” he says, his voice hoarse. It sounds like he’s smoked a pack a day, every day for the last decade of his life.

 

 

“Hey, you’re still awake,” she replies with a smile as she approaches him.

 

 

“Not for long,” he says with a smile.

 

 

She laughs and approaches his bed.

 

 

She grabs his hand and slips her fingers between them. He can’t feel them. He can’t move them, and it is clear he has no reaction, but she does it anyway.

 

 

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

 

 

He lets out a pained guffaw.

 

 

“Sorry,” she quickly answers, “Wrong … wrong word.”

 

 

He smiles, “It’s fine. I … I’m okay,” he says, his voice gravelly and deep.

 

 

“I’m just glad I’m alive,” he says with a smile on his face, his words starting to slow down.

 

 

She reaches up and brushes the hair on his face.

 

 

“Me too,” she says.

 

 

He smiles, but then his smile starts to fade, and his eyes begin to droop.

 

 

Her smile fades too, as she watches him fall back to sleep. 

 

 

\--

 

 

Maze, Linda, and Trixie sit at Linda’s dining table eating pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Linda reaches to grab her hot cup of coffee. Maze reaches onto one of the plates in the center of the table and grabs another slice of bacon.

 

 

“We could go to a movie or something,” Linda says as a suggestion.

 

 

Maze grunts, “and then we can do my thing, right?’

 

 

Linda sighs, “ _Again,_ Maze… she’s too young for paintball.”

 

 

Maze rolls her eyes and bites into another piece of bacon. Her body relaxes, and she chews it with her eyes rolled back in her head. She opens her eyes again and stares at the bacon for a second, shaking her head in disbelief.

 

 

“Are you sure this isn’t a sin? Cause it tastes pretty damn good,” she says as she shoves the rest of it into her mouth and reaches for the last one on the plate in the center of the table.

 

 

“and I know how you people feel about things that taste or feel good.”

 

 

Linda rolls her eyes and brings the cup of coffee up to her lips before she remembers she still needed to talk to Trixie.

 

 

Her eyes to turn Trixie just as she puts a piece of pancake in her mouth.

Linda sets the cup down.

 

 

“Once you’re finished with breakfast,” Linda says, “maybe we can talk about what you saw last night?”

 

 

Trixie pauses and looks a Linda. Her eyes cast down, and she reluctantly nods.

 

 

Maze furrows her eyebrows.

 

 

“What did she see?” Maze asks.

 

 

“Uhm, It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, it is but … it’s fine,” Linda says.

 

 

Maze narrows her eyes, “What did she see, Linda?”

 

 

Linda pauses then looks down at her coffee.

 

 

“She may have looked up … some  _very_  compromising photos on my phone,” she says, taking a sip of coffee.

 

 

Maze looks at her, trying to gauge how compromising she was talking here.

 

 

“…of a man and a woman having sex,” Linda continues.

 

 

“You showed her a picture?!” Maze says, shocked.

 

 

“No! God no, she looked it up on my phone when I was talking to -,” she pauses.

 

 

Maze looks at her as if expecting her to finish her sentence.

 

 

“When I was uhm … when I wasn’t looking,” she corrects herself.

 

 

Maze pauses, raises her eyebrows, and lets go an amused chuckle.

 

 

“Ohhh,” she says, a wicked smile peeling onto her face, “Decker is going to kill you.”

 

 

Linda shakes her head as she sets the cup of coffee down on the table.

 

 

“No, I already spoke to Chloe, and she agreed that we can talk about it,” Linda says.

 

 

Maze scoffs.

 

 

“Of course she lets  _you_  do it.”

 

 

Linda laughs to herself. Meanwhile, Trixie’s eyes ping pong between them both as she takes another bite of her pancake.

 

 

“And what would you say?” Linda asks.

 

 

Maze opens her mouth to say something when Linda stops her.

 

 

“That is _appropriate_ for human children,” Linda clarifies.

 

 

Maze pauses, thinks about it for a second then nods.

 

 

“Good point.”

 

 

Linda turns back to Trixie.

 

 

Trixie’s eyes roll up to Linda’s, a cautious glance. Linda tilts her head and maintains eye contact while leaning in on the table.

 

 

“Do you still want to know?” she asks.

 

 

Trixie nods, “Is that what sex is?” she asks.

 

 

Linda sighs and sits back in her chair. Maze, a smile tucked into the corner of her lips, also sits back. 

 

 

It’s almost as if she is enjoying what seems to be Linda’s torture.

 

 

“Well,” Linda starts, “that question has a lot of … small bits that need to be explained. So let’s start with this, do you know where babies come from?”

 

 

Trixie furrows her eyebrows, “Duh, a mommy carries it in her belly, then she goes to the doctor and…”

 

 

Trixie pauses, realizing she doesn’t know what happens after that. She turns to Maze as if looking for the answer.

 

 

Maze waves her off, “Don’t look at me. Babies are not why I do it.”

 

 

Linda shoots Maze a look then turns back to Trixie.

 

 

“That’s good,” Linda says, reassuring her, “but the baby isn’t actually in the belly. You see … boys and girls have different parts. Girls have a vagina, and boys have a penis.”

 

 

Trixie scrunches her nose and giggles at these words. She already knows that part, she thinks.

 

 

“Uhm,” Linda says, trying to figure out where to go from here. Her eyes trail down to the plate in front of her. She sees the remnants of her bacon and eggs on the plate.

 

 

“Oh,” she says, leaning forward, “so, you know how chickens have eggs, right? and they sit on those eggs, and those eggs turn into baby chickens.”

 

 

Trixie nods.

 

 

“Well, girls have eggs too. But they are inside of us. These eggs turn into babies, and the babies come out of our vaginas.”

 

 

Trixie furls her lips in disgust.

 

 

“What?” Trixie says, not believing this.

 

 

“Yeah, this conversation is getting gross, Linda.”

 

 

Linda tosses Maze a look, “Are you here to help?”

 

 

“No, I’m here to watch this train wreck,” Maze responds, “See, I never really got the whole lesson about babies and sex. Where I come from you just kind of … learn.”

 

 

Maze’s eyes drift off as if thinking about something far and long gone. She turns back to Linda to find Linda giving her that look; that psychology look.

 

 

“Though, hearing this,” she says, slipping back into her character, “I’m actually glad no one sat me down and told me. This is _hella_ awkward.”

 

 

Linda rolls her eyes and lets out a massive sigh before turning back to Trixie.

 

 

“When you get older, you will learn more about the parts, but basically, when two adults really love each other and want to start a family together, the boy puts his … penis into the women’s vagina and deposits like a …starter into her.”

 

 

Trixie looks confused and Maze crosses her arms.

 

 

“A starter?” Trixie asks, the tone of her voice sounding lost.

 

 

“Like a bread?” Maze says, her arms still crossed as she tries to figure out where Linda is going with this, “I mean, I suppose that makes sense with the whole bun in the oven thing.”

 

 

Linda brings her hands up to her head, trying to figure out why this is so hard. She’s a fucking psychiatrist, this shouldn’t be so hard.

 

 

Her eyes trail down to her plate again. Suddenly the haze behind her eyes is gone, and she understands where she is going go to next.

 

 

“Oh! Like, pancakes,” she says, her head popping up, “You know, pancakes have so many ingredients in them. The eggs, the milk, the mix. Babies are like pancakes …”

 

 

“This is getting really convoluted,” Maze says, disappointed.

 

 

“Shut up, I’m getting there,” Linda says.

 

 

“Right, so babies are like pancakes. They need eggs, and milk and … the woman has the egg, and the man has the milk. So, back to what I was saying … when two adults really love each other and want to have a baby, the man puts his penis inside the woman to deposit his milk… and she, in turn, provides the eggs. Then, the baby grows inside her until it’s time to come out.”

 

 

“Of her vagina,” Maze says.

 

 

Linda looks at Maze, a look of annoyance on her face, “Yes, Maze, out of her vagina.”

 

 

Trixie looks at Linda as if processing all of that, but also looking confused.

 

 

“So,” she says, putting things together, “those people in the picture were making a baby?”

 

 

Linda raises her eyes and nods, “Yes… “

 

 

“No,” Maze says, laughing.

 

 

Linda looks at her in the way that Maze knows if the child weren’t here, she’d be getting yelled at. Or worse, _talked_  to.

 

 

“Yes,” Linda says, turning back to Trixie, “and no. Sometimes … sometimes having a baby is difficult, so adults like to practice.”

 

 

“Oh, so they were practicing?” Trixie asks.

 

 

Linda nods, “Yes. But again, and I cannot stress this enough … it’s when two adults really love each other they do this.”

 

 

“Why would they have pictures of people making babies?” Trixie asks, confused about why that is a thing.

 

 

Linda nods, not having an answer for that.

 

 

Maze sighs and decides she should probably step in. Even this was too much torture for one human.

 

 

“It’s an adult thing, kiddo. Like, we have jobs and pay taxes and bills and stuff. You’ll understand when you get older.”

 

 

Trixie looks at Maze, then at Linda. Linda nods, not having her own answer for that.

 

 

Trixie pauses, taking in all that information.

 

 

_Sex is where babies come from._

 

 

She pauses for a moment and shrugs.

 

 

“Okay,” she says, reaching back to her pancakes and starting to eat.

 

 

Linda pauses.

 

 

“Okay?”

 

 

Linda turns to Maze, who looks just as shocked that actually worked.

 

 

“Okay,” Linda says, smiling and sitting back in her seat, “O ….okay.”

 

 

 “So … have you ever tried to make a baby?” Trixie asks, between bites.

 

 

Maze lets out an amused squeal as Linda pauses, a visible stutter in her voice before she even speaks.

 

 

Maze smiles, “Not the end goal for me personally, but … many, _many_ times.”

 

 

Linda sits up and reaches over the table quickly and slaps her, “Inappropriate.”

 

 

Linda turns to Trixie.

 

 

“That’s a very personal question. It’s not really appropriate to go around asking people if they have. Would you want someone to ask you every time you poop?”

 

 

Trixie giggles and shakes her head no.

 

 

“Same thing,” Linda says.

 

 

“I wouldn’t exactly relate it to defecation,” Maze says before pausing.

 

 

“Well,” she continues, changing her thought process, “I suppose, depending on how you do it, the parts  _are_ the same.”

 

 

“Honestly,” Linda says to Maze, “Again,  _totally_ inappropriate.”

 

 

Maze stands up and raises her hands as, “Alright fine.”

 

 

The table is silent for a moment as Trixie finishes her food. Linda reaches for her coffee. Trixie seemed fine, but she definitely needs a drink after that conversation. Maze lets go a deep sigh then leans forward.

 

 

“What if  _we_  go paintballing and the child watches?” Maze says.

 

 

“You want us to wear masks and get shot by balls of paint while Trixie sits by herself in a place where we can’t watch her?’ Linda says, trying to put emphasis on how bad of an idea that is.

 

 

Maze nods, “Yeah.”

 

 

Linda looks at her, a look of disbelief in her eyes.

 

 

“No,” she says, her voice making it sounds like that was the dumbest thing she’s ever heard.

 

 

Maze sits back and rolls her eyes. What was the point of watching a kid if you couldn’t do fun stuff with it?

 

 

 --

 

 

Inside her office, Natalie Edwards sits at her desk. She reads through an open file, flipping a pen back and forth between her pointer and middle finger before pausing and jotting something down on the paper.

 

 

Quickly, she closes the file and slides it into a basket on the right side of her desk.

 

 

She sighs as she reaches for a file on the left side of her desk. Just then, the phone on her desk begins to ring. She reaches over and picks it up.

 

 

“Lieutenant Edwards,” she answers.

 

 

“Good Afternoon, Lieutenant, this is Detective Decker,” Chloe says on the other line.

 

 

The Lieutenant nods and sits back in her chair, “Ah, Detective Decker,” she says, “How are things? Any news on Detective Espinoza?”

 

 

 “That’s what I was calling about,” Chloe says, “I was hoping I could take leave for a few days, you know … just until we figure out what route we need to take with Dan.”

 

 

“I see. I take it the outlook is grim?” she asks.

 

 

The line is silent for a moment. Natalie closes her eyes, just now realizing how bad that sounds.

 

 

 _Why would you ask that?_ A voice in her head says.

 

 

“My apologies, what I meant to say was-“ she starts.

 

 

“He’s awake,” Chloe interrupts, “He’s … alive. It’s just … I, I don’t want to get into any detail or anything, but I was hoping I could take a few days off to spend some time with him. Until we figure out where to go from here.”

 

 

Natalie nods.

 

 

“Of course,” she says, “We can discuss your performance on the last case when you return.”

 

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

 

“I’ll place Mr. Morningstar with another one of our detectives for the time being.”

 

 

Chloe pauses, “Wait, what? Why would you need to do that?”

 

 

Natalie furrows her eyebrows, “Because that is his job?”

 

 

“He’s my partner.”

 

 

“He’s a consultant, Detective,” Natalie says, “His placement is based on the needs of the department. With you on leave, he will be needed elsewhere.”

 

“I … I don’t think that is a good idea,” she says, “I mean, I can hardly control him on my own let alone –“

 

“I wouldn’t worry about him, Detective,” she says, “He’s contractually obligated to perform his duties. If he doesn’t want to do them that that is his decision, but that would, unfortunately, mean he’d be breaking the contract.”

 

The line is silent.

 

Chloe sighs, “Right.”

 

“Keep me posted on Detective Espinoza,” Natalie says, “and let me know if anything changes.”

 

“Thank you,” Chloe says.

 

The line clicks, and Natalie sets the phone back down. She sighs then moves to reach for the file on the left side of her desk again.

 

She pulls out the file and begins to read it.

 

Suddenly a loud blare of music comes from Ella’s lab, and she looks up to see Ella fiddling with a speaker before the music cuts off. Ella turns to her and mouths, “sorry.”

 

Natalie turns back to her papers and starts to read, but her concentration falls short. She turns her eyes back up to Ella and watches as she begins to shut down her machines. 

 

Natalie’s eyes drop back to the paper, but there is something else behind it. It looks a lot like regret.

 

Her cell phone begins to ring in her purse, and she sighs. Why is everyone calling her today? God forbid she attempt to get  _any_  work done on a Saturday.

 

She reaches into her purse and pulls out a cell phone in a black case. She looks at the name.

 

 _Liz Calling_.

 

She pauses and stares at the phone ringing. It rings and rings and rings. She just stares at it, wondering if she should answer,  _knowing_  she should answer.

 

Then there is a knock on the door. Natalie looks up and sees Ella.

 

She hits mute on her phone and shoves the phone back into her purse.

 

“Ms. Lopez,” she says, “come in.”

 

“Just finished up the forensics on the Miller homicide,” Ella says as she enters and hands Natalie a manila folder.

 

“Thank you,” Natalie says, placing the file on the left side of her desk.

 

Ella nods, “I uhm … I ‘m going to go ahead and head out if you don’t need me?”

 

Natalie nods, “Sure, right. Enjoy the rest of your weekend Ms. Lopez.”

 

Ella smiles and turns to leave.

 

Ella stops in her tracks and entwines her fingers as if hesitating. She turns as she scrunches her face as if already regretting what she was about to say.

 

“Uhm, about last night,” Ella says.

 

Natalie holds her hand out, cutting her off.

 

“Ms. Lopez, I … I agree. I’m sorry if I came across a bit strong, but I hope that doesn’t make you feel as if that has anything to do with you.”

 

Ella nods and smiles. She crosses her arms.

 

“I know it doesn’t,” she says.

 

The Lieutenant nods, pleasantly surprised by her response. She starts to turn back to her desk, thinking the conversation is over.

 

“I know it has everything to do with you,” she says.

 

Natalie pauses and turns back to Ella.

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I get it. You’re my boss, you’re worried about how it looks being the third Lieutenant at a troubled precinct in less than six months. You want to maintain some sort of separation, some sort of order … I get it, I do.”

 

Natalie looks at her, her eyes narrowing and not sure where this is going.

 

“You don’t want to be friends. You don’t want to seem biased or get yourself into some sort of predicament. Or maybe you think you don’t need friends, and that’s fine. I disagree, but that’s fine.”

 

Natalie leans back in her chair, her arms crossed.

 

“Which is exactly why we have to be very clear about the lines we draw, Ms. Lopez,” Natalie says.

 

Ella shakes her head.

 

“I may not be friends with everyone in this station, but I  _am_  friendly. Will I be invited to every barbeque or wedding or bar mitzvah? No. I know that. But, if one of us is having a bad day, or week or year … I can make it a little easier. We are a team. Every one person matters.”

 

Natalie’s eyebrows raise.

 

“So, when I ask you to call me by my first name or when I invite you to drink with us, it's not because I think we have the opportunity to become best friends, it just because … me being invested in you as a person helps my work. We are a team here, no one has to do anything alone, and that includes you. I will have your back if you have mine, we  _all_ will.”

 

Ella’s eyes drop, staring off into something else.

 

“We’re surrounded by so much death each day,” she says, turning her eyes back to Natalie, “doing the little things to celebrate each person’s life makes this job a little easier, I think, for everyone. Even if it’s as stupid as the names we call people.”

 

Natalie purses her lips and nods, her eyes off somewhere else.

 

The room is silent and tense as Ella waits for a reply.

 

Natalie turns her eyes up to Ella. She stares at her for a moment, as if reading her.

 

It was clear this was important to Ella, and despite her continued disinterest in being anything more than a coworker to her, it was hard to argue she wasn't good at her job. In fact, she was probably the better of all the people in the department.

 

Natalie narrows her eyes, not happy about the conclusion she is coming to. She lets out a deep sigh and sits forward in her chair.

 

“Fine, how about … we meet in the middle, and I just call you Lopez?” she asks.

 

"I mean, a lot of people call me Lopez," she begins, "It's not much of a -"

 

She looks into Natalie's eyes and sees an unwillingness to budge any further.

 

“I’ll take it!” she says, “It’s a step in the right direction.”

 

Natalie shakes her head and smiles.

 

“Good, I’ll see you Monday Lopez,” Natalie says.

 

Ella salutes her and turns to leave, “Alright, Have a good weekend Natalie,” she says.

 

Natalie stands quickly, an air of offense in her voice, “Lopez!”

 

Ella holds her hands out, “Too Soon? Okay, baby steps.”

 

Natalie shakes her head in disbelief as Ella quickly runs up the steps to exit the precinct.

 

A brief smile curls onto her face then disappears as her office falls silent. She turns to her bag and reaches in to pull out her phone. It says she has on new voicemail.

 

She sits back in her chair. She looks at her desk, filled with paperwork, and reaches up to her temple to press it. Her eyes snap to the clock, and she sees it is just after 2:30pm.

 

She turns back to her paperwork.

 

She could call it early on a Saturday, right? Maybe she could take some of this work home and work on it there, that might be less …  _distracting_.

 

She sighs and leans forward, resting her elbows on the table.  _Why couldn’t she concentrate?_

 

Her eyes turn back to her phone. One unheard voicemail.

 

Her eyes turn back to the paper in front of her, and she sits back, attempting to get back to work. She begins to read, but soon her mind veers off track again as her eyes turn back to her phone.

 

One unheard voicemail. She knew it was from Liz, it had to be.

 

Slowly, she reaches over to the phone and picks it up. She pauses, looking at the screen.

She takes a deep breathe in and unlocks her phone before dialing voice mail.

 

“You have one unheard message,” the robot voice says.

 

“First unheard message:”

 

Natalie braces herself and closes her eyes. She knows she’s going to hear Liz’s voice. She knows it's going to … _hurt_.

 

“Hey Nat,” the voice says, “I was just calling to see if you got my message? I know I called you on your night off, but … I was hoping maybe you’d call me when you woke up or something. Uhm, anyway … just give me a callback, yeah?

 

She hangs up her phone and sets it on the table. Her eyes stare forward.

 

Liz was going to keep calling and calling until she got Natalie on the phone, that was apparent.

 

She doesn’t think she could face it yet, though; the truth. 

 

Lis was getting married. 

 

She had been holding onto this idea that Liz would come to her senses, and the phone call she’d get from her would be less of “ _I’ve found someone who makes me happy”_  and more of  _“You’re the only one who makes me happy.”_

 

Instead, Liz had called to tell her she was getting married.

 

Liz is getting married to someone that isn’t her. 

 

Why was she so affected by that? She didn’t even  _want_  to be married. Marriage was a … scam. It was illogical and a relic of old thinking where one person dedicates their life to another for the world to see.

 

Natalie wasn’t like that, but … it was clear Liz was. Their differences use to draw them together. She briefly wonders when it first started to pull them apart. 

 

She shakes that thought out of her head and looks down at the papers on her desk. Yeah, there was no way she was getting any more work done today.

 

She sighs and closes the manila folder before setting it back in a pile on the left side of her desk. Then, she turns and reaches into her purse and pulls out a phone with a bright red case. She unlocks it and goes to her contacts, where she clicks on the only contact saved to her phone.

 

It just says, “E.”

 

She presses dial and sits back in her chair as she brushes her hair aside. The air around her changes the longer the phone rings. It turns from stern and authoritative to a different kind of power, one more self-assured.

 

“Funny to see your name on my phone,” a male voice says when the line clicks.

 

“It’s been one of those days, E. I need to play.”

 

“Mmm,” he says a pleased tone to his voice, “I’ll make some phone calls. I’ll let you know how many strays I pick up. Usual time?”

 

“Of course,” she says as if that was even a question.

 

His smile is audible in his tone, “Well then, I’ll see you tonight … mistress.”

 

She hangs up the phone and tosses it back into her purse.

 

\--

 

At the narrow entrance to the lagoon, Calmos shoves the empty buckets through the doorway before squeezing his body between the two large rocks that cover the doorway. He reaches down and grabs the buckets before walking calmly down the pathway. When the path opens up, he approaches the lagoon and sets both buckets down before taking one and submerging it into the cold water.

 

Nearby, on a rocky ledge, a shadowy form uncoils from a balled-up position. Calmos notices the movement and turns to it.

 

“I hope you aren’t startled by me this time,” the voice says.

 

Calmos recognizes it as Ezria and smiles.

 

He slowly stands, taking the bucket out of the water and setting it at his feet.

 

“No, I’ve come to not at all be surprised to see you here,” he says.

 

He steps forward towards Ezria slightly.

 

“What are you doing here? I thought the tower be better accommodations for someone of your _status_ ,” he says mockingly.

 

Ezria chuckles and slides off the ledge into a small stream of light that filters from the narrow corridor.

 

“I’m glad to see you are in such a …” he says before pausing, trying to find the word he is looking for. He turns his head to the side.

 

Calmos watches him as he attempts to comb his mind for the word he is looking for. It’s odd. Up until this point, all of their interactions had been pretty standard for someone who assumed himself to be better than others. But this moment … he catches a slight glimpse of something he had never seen.

 

“Are you alright?” Calmos asks.

 

Ezria turns to him and narrows his eyes.  _Concern._  Concern wasn’t something that demons showed.

 

“One could ask the same of you, Calmos,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos turns and goes back to the water buckets. Something was off about the Angel, but he can’t quite place it.

 

He grabs the empty bucket and kneels before leaning forward and submerging it in the water. It slowly fills up.

 

Behind him, Ezria tilts his head again, his eyes slowly crawling over every inch of Ezria’s backside. He is slender and small, much smaller than the other demons, but the muscles on his back are strong. Ezria turns his eyes away quickly as he realizes he is staring.

 

“I've been delivering water to the sweat pits," Calmos says, "I'm finally on the top floor.“

 

“Oh?“ Ezria says, “are you all work, Calmos?“

 

Calmos pauses and turns to Ezria. He eyes him for a moment before turning back to his water bucket. He doesn't like this line of questioning.

 

“Speaking of, I haven’t yet seen  _you_  in the sweat pits,” Calmos says as he leans back and pulls a heavy bucket from the lagoon.

 

“Yes,” Ezria says, “It was quite delightful the first time, but I much prefer my privacy.”

 

“Huh,” Calmos says, almost as if not expecting him to say that.

 

There is an awkward silence between them as they stare at one another.

 

“This was not an invitation, was it?” Ezria asks, intrigue behind his words.

 

Calmos turns and grabs the buckets from the ground, “Oh no,” he says, “I've known enough about the sweat pits to know it to not be my preference. Besides, you’ve made it very clear how you feel about us.”

 

Calmos stands and turns to walk down the pathway.

 

“Facts withstanding, it’s perfectly acceptable to satisfy one’s desires-“ he begins.

 

“How  _convenient_  for you,” Calmos says, walking down the pathway and ignoring Ezria's words.

 

Once he reaches the doorway, he slides the two buckets between the opening and turns back to Ezria.

 

“... that you only hate demons when you don’t need them to spill your seed.”

 

He slips between the rocks and disappears from the doorway, leaving Ezria standing there thinking.

 

He was an Angel. 

 

He was created by God as a perfect being. 

 

These demons were merely the rejects of an imperfect mortal. 

 

Why should he be reduced to consider them as equals in any sense?

 

The truth is they weren't equal. Their bodies were made to be similar, but they had no spirit, no ...soul. If they were worthy of anything, it would be his lust and  _not_  his respect.

 

His eyes turn back to the doorway. 

 

Ezria's eyes drop, then turn back to the doorway.

 

_So, why was this demon somehow getting both?_

 

On the other side of the doorway, Calmos turns to the yoke lying nearby. He brings a bucket to it and lays it beside the hook on one end. 

 

Then he turns and gets the second bucket and sits it beneath the hook on the other end. He brings the yoke up and drapes it across his shoulders before kneeling and reaching to lay the handles of the buckets inside the hooks.

 

Suddenly he hears heavy footsteps behind him and turns just as a tall demon pushes his face down into the ground. The water buckets spill, and the yoke – still attached to his shoulders – falls off and tumbles a few inches away.

 

“Now I know you didn’t believe me to give up so easily?” the demon says. Calmos tries hard to turn his body around but fails as the demon climbs on top of him.

 

“Get off me!” Calmos yells.

 

He attempts to turn his head but only gets it partly around, just enough to make out the form in his peripheral vision. It’s the demon from the sweat pits.

 

His heart races, he knows what this demon wants.

 

 

“You’re going to thank me,” the demon says, hooking his hands beneath Calmos’s waistband, attempting to move the fabric of his pants away from his skin.

 

“I’m surprised you still exist,” the demon says, “Not with a hole like yours.”

 

Calmos squirms beneath him, trying to shift his hips to prevent him from pulling his pants down further.

 

“Get off me, you fucking asshole!” Calmos screams.

 

The demon plants his broad hands on the back of Calmos’s head, pushing it into the ground as he sits up and pulls the other side of Calmos’s pants down, revealing his rear end.

 

Calmos continues to squirm as the demon slides his erection between Calmos’s cheeks. He grinds his body against him as if tempting Calmos with what he could have.

 

“Mmm, you’re going to feel so good,” the demon says.

 

Calmos snakes his right hand down between the ground and his belly before wrapping his hand around the blade tucked into his waistband. 

 

The demon sees this and smiles.

 

“Yes, touch yourself,” he says.

 

The weight of the demon on him and the sheer force of his pants being dragged lower forces an edge of the blade to cut against his skin.

 

“Okay,” he says, a strange calmness in his voice.

 

His muscles relax as if he’s given in to what is about to happen. The demon notices this and smiles.

 

“I’m going to fuck you like you’ve never been fucked,” he says. He pauses for a second and realizes what he’s said and smiles.

 

“Well,” he says, “I suppose you ha-“

 

In one swift move, Calmos’ shifts his weight, twisting his body with all his might and forcing the ill-prepared demon off of him. His arms reel back, and in one long arch, he slashes a deep gash across the torso and chest of the demon.

 

It bleeds heavily, as the demon falls onto the ground, just inches from the opening to the lagoon, and looks down to check his wounds.

 

“What the fuck?” he says to himself.

 

Calmos stands and peels off the bag he has draped around his side. It falls to the ground, and a harmonica slips out.

 

Calmos reaches down and slides his pants back over his waist before reaching with his free hand and pulling the other blade out of his waistband. He twirls them both in his hands before locking them into his grip.

 

“I fucking warned you,” he says, his voice angry and not at all light as it usually is.

 

The demon, completely naked and with no blades, holds his hands out.

 

“Oh, come on… I was just trying to help you out!” he says joking, not believing this demon could do anything to harm him.

 

Calmos slowly steps forward.

 

“ _No one_  touches me,” he says.

 

Before he even gets a few steps in, Calmos hears the crunching of rocks on the pathway to the door from the lagoon. The demon on the ground hears it too and turns slightly to peer between the narrow opening.

 

Suddenly, the two large rocks in front of the door burst apart into tiny pieces. The demon reaches up to shield his eyes as the stones fall onto him. In the dust cloud, as rocks fall to the ground, a single closed fist slowly sinks back into the doorway, next to a sinisterly calm Ezria.

 

His black wings spread and he stands still. Not angery, not happiness; nothing. He looks up and stares at Calmos, who stands there frozen in shock. Ezria’s looks at Calmos, then slowly falls down to the demon laying in front of him. Suddenly, a single black wing with a blade attached to it reels up and  _slams_  down, piercing the demon’s belly. 

 

The demon screams out in pain as Calmos watches, his anger falling to awe. The wing pulls back into the darkness as Ezria backs up, dragging the demon with him into the dark cavern. 

 

Calmos stands at the entrance watching the dust from the broken rock settle as just beyond the doorway, somewhere deep in the darkness of this cave, blood-curdling screams echo. He stands there, not sure if he should let go of his blades or not.

 

The screams are loud and pained and remind him of the torture pits. They go on for a few moments, paired with the sound of metal hitting rock, bone and air,  before suddenly they fall silent. There is a stillness there that Calmos doesn’t have an answer for; he doesn’t know how he should react.

 

Then he hears it, slow and deliberate footsteps coming up the rocky pathway from the lagoon.

 

He backs up, not sure what might come from the other side.

 

Slowly, a bloodied Ezria walks out of the now clear opening. His black wings are folded behind him, the blades covered in blood. His eyes are dark, and his face doesn’t show a single sign of anything. He is not pleased, he is not angry, he is not even remorseful. He is nothing.

 

Somehow he also looks taller than usual. Calmos backs away, looking up at him with both fear and …

 

 _And what?_ He says to himself.

 

Ezria pauses at the entrance and stares down at the rock now on the floor. He looks back to Calmos, then down to the blades in his hand.

 

He turns his glance towards Calmos, who stands there, watching him as if trying to decipher his next move. Calmos grips his blade tightly, his mind unsure of how to take the way Ezria is looking at him.

 

Ezria lowers his wings at his back and stares at Calmos, the darkness still in his eyes.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice deep and rough.

 

Calmos cautions a nod, and Ezria slightly raises his head. He looks down at how tightly Calmos is gripping his blades, and an odd feeling comes over him. 

 

“Do not fear me, Calmos,” he says.

 

Calmos shifts his weight on his feet, unsure.

 

“I thought that is what you desired,” Calmos replies.

 

“Not from you,” he says.

 

Calmos pauses before loosening his grip on his blades slowly. Ezria watches as he tucks the blades into the band of his pants.

 

He turns his eyes to his turned over buckets and sighs before reaching for them and completely dumping them out on the ground.

 

“I’d ask what you did to him, but …,” Calmos says, his eyes turning to all the blood on Ezria’s shirt, “It’s quite apparent.”

 

“Yes, well, he was deserving of what came to him.”

 

Calmos nods.

 

“I could have handled it myself,” he says.

 

Ezria looks at him, his eyebrows furrowing.

 

“But … thank you, I guess,” Calmos says, “If anyone asks, though, I did it, okay? The last thing I need is anyone thinking I have an Angel for a bodyguard.”

 

He walks past Ezria, who continues to watch him with deep, dark eyes. He enters the now wide-open path into the lagoon and pauses.

 

“Oh,” he says, looking around at the rocks on the ground.

 

“Thanks for this, too, I guess. Though, now I’m going to have to work harder to keep people out of my spot,” he says with a smile.

 

Calmos turns and enters the darkness of the cavern, his footsteps echoing along the path to the lagoon.

 

Ezria watches him, his eyes far more adjusted to the dark than anyone. He watches as Calmos goes to the edge of the lagoon and takes time to fill up the buckets. 

 

His eyes drop down to his hands to find them still covered in blood. He stares at them. The blood still warm on his hands.

 

Calmos seemed more than capable of handling that demon on his own.

 

Why did he step in?

 

Why did he get so angry?

 

Why did that feel so ...  _good?_

 

\--

It's late in the evening when Dan is awake again. Chloe sits in a chair near the bed, laughing while Dan tells a story.

 

“She was so mad Chloe, you should have seen her face,” he says with a giant smile on his face, “It was adorable because you know at that age they don’t stay mad long. By the time we got home, she was ready to play and color.”

 

Chloe nods, her arms crossed and relaxed across her body.

 

“She’s always been like that,” Chloe says, laughing.

 

“All you have to do is bribe her with something sweet.”

 

Dan smiles and turns his eyes to the ceiling, “Kids are funny.”

 

The silence is comfortable as they both reminisce.

 

“I miss her so much,” he says, his smile fading. She looks up to him and nods.

 

“I uhm … I haven’t told her yet. I’m just waiting on … you know,” she says.

 

He tries to nod, but his neck is still stiff, “I know,” he says, “God … I don’t know what I would have done if I could never see her again. I’m so stupid.”

 

“Hey,” Chloe says, getting up from her chair and resting a hand on his arm, “It’s okay. What’s done is done, remember? You can spend the rest of her life, making it up to her.”

 

He gives a faint smile and closes his eyes, mentally kicking himself.

 

Chloe looks at him, a question coming to her mind that she doesn’t know if she should ask. She crosses her arms and goes back to her seat.

 

“Why’d you uhm … Why’d you do it?” Chloe asks.

 

Dan opens his eyes and turns to her.

 

“I mean … you’ve always been so …,” she says, shaking her head, trying to get the words to come out.

 

“I guess you never really know what someone is going through, but you've always been so …”

 

“Happy?” he asks.

 

She shakes her head no, “I don’t know … you seemed okay.”

 

Dan sighs and turns his eyes back to the ceiling, “I thought I was okay, but then … it kept getting worse.”

 

Chloe stares at him as a wildness starts to creep into his eyes.

 

“It started out with the voices … sometimes they’d be whispers as if they were far away, other times they’d sound like they were right next to me; breathing on my neck.”

 

“What did they say?” Chloe asks, leaning forward in her chair. He turns to her, a look in his eyes as if he were far away, reliving those moments.

 

“At first, it was impossible to understand, they were speaking so fast. But then ...” he says, his eyes turning away.

 

“Then they all started saying the same thing.”

 

“What did they say?” she asks again.

 

“The book,” he says, “they kept saying to find the book.”

 

Chloe shakes her head,” What book?”

 

He turns his eyes back to her, “I don’t know. They just kept telling me over and over again, but the odd part is I didn’t feel like they were saying it to me. It felt like they were … telling me to tell someone else.”

 

Chloe purses her lips and nods her head. She remembers little about the time she was possessed, but she does remember asking Lucifer what he had done to Dan that night. She does remember him saying something about him being a messenger.

 

Her eyes turn to the side as she continues to delve into her own mind.

 

 _Had he done something to help Dan?_  He must have.

 

“Then the voices started to change,” Dan continues.

 

Chloe turns back to him as he stares forward, his eyes wide and distant.

 

“That’s when the stillness turned … it turned on me.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “What stillness?”

 

The heartbeat monitor starts to beep faster.

 

“It always started the same. Everything turned still, so still, I got goosebumps. Then …”

 

He pauses, trying to get the words out. The monitor starts to beep faster.

 

Chloe stands and approaches him.

 

“Then what?”

 

His eyes turn to her as the monitors start to go haywire.

 

“It came,” he says.

 

A nurse enters the room, jogging, and approaches the bed.

 

“Everything okay?” she says, taking a glance at the monitors. Dan stares forward, lost in his own world.

 

“Mr. Espinoza?” the nurse says, noticing how distant his eyes are.

 

The monitors continue to beep quickly.

 

“Mr. Espinoza!” the nurse says, placing a hand on his arm and shaking him. It snaps him out of it, and he turns to her. It takes him a second to realize what he is seeing as the beeping on the monitor starts to slow down.

 

“Are you okay?” the nurse asks.

 

He looks at her and nods.

 

“Sorry, I … I must have … I’m okay,” he says with a smile.

 

“Are you sure??” she asks again, just to clarify.

 

“Yes, sorry,” he says. 

 

"I'm going to give you something to help," the nurse says before she tosses a small smile to Chloe and leaves.

 

 

The nurse exits, and Chloe turns to Dan.

 

“Sorry,” she says.

 

He chuckles, “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says.

 

Chloe frowns and turns to move and sit in her chair. She collapses in it and stares at the ground.

 

“I wish that were true,” she says,” but … I should have been there for you.”

 

Dan turns his head to her as much as he can.

 

“If I would have known you were going through something I would have ….,” she says.

 

She shakes her head. What would she have done? What could she have done? She had been so focused on her own mindblowing experience, could she have done something? She could have spent less time thinking about Lucifer and more time thinking about Dan.

 

“There was nothing you could have done,” he says.

 

Chloe turns to him.

 

“Really, Chloe. It is out of your hands. It would have taken nothing short of a miracle to fix it.”

 

She looks at him, something clicking in her head about what he’s said. Lucifer had seemed so distant when she ran out of Dan’s apartment, he had said he needed to do something. Then she had seen him, that look in his eyes with those strange robes on.

 

_What did he do?_

 

She turns her eyes to Dan. He is saying something, but she isn’t listening.

 

Did he do it for Dan? Or did he do it for her?

 

She shakes her thoughts clear and turns her attention back to him.

 

“So, you don’t blame me?” she asks.

 

“No,” he says shocked she would say that, “I’m just glad it’s over,” Dan continues, “at least … I hope it is.”

 

He turns to Chloe, and they stare at one another. Each having their own thoughts running through their head.

 

He doesn’t blame her, he thinks. It wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Though … if he were honest, somehow he believes it to be Lucifer’s fault.  _Somehow._

 

“I hope so,” Chloe says.

 

The nurse returns with a syringe filled with an opaque white substance. She attaches it to the end of Dan's IV bag and squeezes it into the bag. It filters in, and the nurse turns and puts a hand on his shoulder.

 

"That oughta help, okay?"

 

His eyes start to droop, and the nurse turns to Chloe

 

“I’ll be right outside if you need me, okay?”

 

“Thank you,” Chloe says.

 

The nurse leaves, gently leaving the door ajar behind her. Chloe turns back to Dan and watches as his eyes continue to droop. Then, he's out like a light and sleeping again.

 

She watches him, sadness in her eyes. She brings her hand to her mouth and catches herself as she is about to cry. She sniffs, pulling that emotion back temporarily. She reaches up with one hand and brushes her hair back from her eyes before spinning around and moving to a chair in the corner.

 

She sits there for a moment before putting her head in her hands. She jerks forward silently, before sitting up again and brushing her hair out of her eyes that have started to turn red.

 

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone.

 

\--

 

The sun is just going down in the Los Angeles sky as Lucifer sits on his balcony watching. Next to him on the table lays a variety of food items. Chips, cookies, a plate of carrots, and hummus. Each in various states of disarray.

 

He sips a glass of whiskey in his hand then reaches for another chip when his phone rings.

 

He wipes his hand on a napkin and reaches into his pocket to see it is Chloe calling him.

 

He pauses. He knows he wants to answer it, but the last time he had a phone call with her, it didn’t end well. He couldn’t ignore her, though; he would never ignore her.

 

He inhales deeply, and presses accept before putting it up to his ear.

 

“Detective,” he says, a cautious tone in his voice.

 

Inside Dan’s Hospital room, Chloe sits in a chair in the corner and speaks in a low volume.

 

“Hey,” she says, also trying to feel out his mood, “do you have a moment to talk?”

 

He nods and sighs deeply.

 

“Yes,” he says on the line, “but before you speak, I’d like to … apologize for hanging up on you earlier. I … it was unbecoming of me, and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

 

“I uhm … It’s fine,” she continues, “If you don’t want to talk about whatever is bothering you, then I won't push it, but …”

 

She closes her eyes tightly, trying to hold it in, “I just, I need someone to talk to.”

 

On his balcony, Lucifer sits up in his chair. He can hear the tone in her voice, and it doesn’t make him feel good.

 

“Of course,” he says, “I am here to listen.”

 

She lets go a deep sigh, “I'm trying so hard to keep it together, for Dan ... for Trixie ...but I just feel  _so_  guilty,” she says.

 

“For what?” he says, hearing her on the verge of tears.

 

“For Dan. For everything. I just, I don’t know what to do.”

 

“Why would you feel guilty Detective? You’ve done nothing wrong. This isn’t your fault.”

 

“Logically, I know that but, I can’t stop feeling like it is."

 

“What could you have done differently, Detective?” he asks, “you did far more than anyone else did.”

 

“I did  _nothing_ ,” she says, “I could have called him more or … tried to track him down earlier.”

 

Inside the hospital room, she shakes her head and tilts it up, trying to keep the tears from falling. If Dan were to suddenly wake up again, she couldn't let him see her crying.

 

“I could have done something, but instead, I did nothing.”

 

Lucifer sighs and sits back in his chair, his eyes going to the tray of food next to him.

 

“Detective, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

 

Inside the hospital room, she raises her head and stares at Dan.

 

“Your guilt is your flaw,” he says, “you humans have this beautiful thing called a conscience that tells you right from wrong, but somehow you’ve managed to twist it into this massive guilt factory.”

 

She shakes her head, “Lucifer …” she says, in no mood to hear whatever lecture he is about to spew.

 

“Honestly, Darling, “he says, ”Daniel’s ailment is a celestial issue. That is why I had to do what I did. There is nothing you or any mortal could have done to help him.”

 

She pauses.

 

That is why he had to do what he did?

_What did he do?_

 

“Daniel will be okay and will make a full recovery,” Lucifer promises, “In due time. So you see, your worry is unfounded. You are only making yourself sick.”

 

The line is silent.

 

“Detective?” Lucifer says.

 

“What did you do?” she asks.

 

He pauses. The silence is thick.

 

“I … you told me I didn’t have to discuss it,” he says.

 

She closes her eyes tightly. 

 

“You don’t,” she says, “… thank you.”

 

On the balcony, he smiles a sweet smile.

 

“Anytime, Detective.”

 

The line is silent again.

 

“Well, I suppose I should let you get back to Daniel,” he says.

 

“You don’t have to go,” she says, a neediness in her voice, “Between the anti-inflammatory meds and the painkillers, Dan has been sleeping all day. It’s kind of boring just waiting here, but … I can't just leave him alone ... not after everything.”

 

“Mmm,” he says, “Would you like me to keep you company?”

 

“Do you mind?” she asks.

 

“Of course not, Darling, but I’m afraid you’ll have to hear chewing. I was just settling in for a light snack.”

 

He reaches for a carrot on the table next to him and dips it in hummus before crunching it in his mouth.

 

When she hears the crunch on the other line, her eyebrows furrow.

 

“What are you eating?” she asks.

 

“Carrots and Hummus,” he says, “It’s a rather odd combination, but I think my palette has changed these last few days. I never used to like chickpeas, but I find them rather pleasing lately.”

 

She smiles, “You didn’t like chickpeas?”

 

“Well, the manufacturing process doesn't quite capture the essence of the dish, does it? The best hummus I had was at a lovely family home during the ottoman empire. The food was good, the music was good, the opium was delightful. Don't even get me started on the women.."

 

"Yea, please don't," she says with a small smile.

 

"Oh, Detective. You would have loved it..."

 

In the hospital, a laughing Chloe brings her legs up onto the chair and gets comfortable as Dan continues to sleep in the bed.

 

\--

 

Linda and Maze sit on her couch watching a movie as nearby, a sleeping Trixie is curled up on the edge of the sofa.

 

"So I don't get it," Maze says, a hand full of popcorn waiting to be shoved into her mouth, "He was dead the whole time?"

 

Linda nods, "Yes, the boy said he was seeing dead people so... "

 

"Huh." Maze says, before shoving more popcorn into her mouth.

 

Linda leans forward and eyes a sleeping Trixie before sitting back in her spot and sighing.

 

"One full day down," she says to herself before turning to Maze, "we made it."

 

Maze shrugs, "You were the one making it out to be a big deal. I keep an eye on her all the time."

 

"That truly, _truly_ terrifies me."

 

Maze laughs and shoves another handful of popcorn in her face before setting the bowl on the table.

 

"I think you'd make a great mom someday," she says.

 

"Yeah? even after that talk?" Linda says.

 

Maze shrugs, "I mean, it's a juvenile approach to creating life, but considering the audience, I don't think it was bad."

 

Linda rolls her eyes and stands up, reaching forward to turn off the scrolling credits on the movie. She grabs two cans of empty soda off the coffee table and approaches the kitchen.

 

"You know my ex and I tried to have kids at one point," she says, opening a cupboard and tossing the cans into a recycling bin.

 

"I bet you practiced _so_ much," Maze says with a cheeky smile.

 

She grabs the bowl of popcorn and brings it into the kitchen.

 

Linda laughs, "Yeah," she says, her smile fading as she remembers.

 

"We ... never really were able to. I don't know, maybe I was too busy, or we were thinking about it too hard."

 

"Mmm," Maze says.

 

"Either way, I mean, I'm glad we didn't ...could you imagine?"

 

"The practicing? Or the actually having a kid," Maze says.

Linda laughs and approaches the counter. She leans on it and sighs, staring out the window. 

Her eyes move up to Maze as Maze finishes the remainder of popcorn in the dish.

 

"Maze," Linda says.

 

Maze turns her eyes to Linda.

 

"I uhm ... I have a confession to make."

 

Maze raises her eyebrows.

 

"When Trixie was looking up sex on my phone, I was ... I was outside talking to Amenadiel."

 

Maze suddenly stops chewing, and her eyes narrow. She scoffs and dumps the handful of popcorn into the bowl before pushing it away from her, suddenly not hungry.

 

"We weren't talking about anything bad!" Linda clarifies, "He was asking about ..."

 

She turns her eyes to see if Trixie is still asleep, then lowers her voice to a whisper, "Dan."

 

"What was he doing here?" Maze says, the implication not even really an implication.

 

"I ... I don't know, I mean, I do know but ... we don't speak. We barely have even spoken since you know ...we ended it."

 

"Okay, so why are you telling me this now?" Maze asks.

 

Linda sighs, "I ... I suppose because part of me ... misses him."

 

Linda cautions up a glance to Maze, who stares at her angrily with her arms crossed.

 

"If you don't want me to see him, that's fine," she says, "Your friendship is more important to me than anything but ...but I can't help the way I feel."

 

Maze stares at her, unsure about how she wants to approach this.

 

"Do you mean that?" she asks.

 

"Mean what?"

 

"That like ... our friendship is important to you, more important than him?"

 

Linda nods, "of course. Men come and go, Maze but ... our friendship is ... well, truly it is an anomaly, and I haven't figured out how it works, but I just know it does. I wouldn't want to throw that away for anything. We stopped because … well I stopped because I realized how much it was hurting you."

 

Maze continues to look at her, her eyes narrows.

 

“I chose you over him but that doesn’t make those feelings go away, Maze. He’s kind and … loving and …is very ripped.”

 

A small smile curls onto Maze’s face but she fights it off.

 

“Look, if you don’t want me to see him again I get that but … can I at least talk to him without feeling like a bad friend? Can I at least get some sort of … closure?”

 

Maze stares at her, her arms still crossed. She had feelings for him and Linda still went after him, behind her back no less. The betrayal had hurt more than anything, more than the heartbreak. But now that she had distance from him, _from them_ , maybe her an Amenadiel just weren’t a match to begin with? An angel and a demon?

 

_What a stupid fucking idea._

 

The heartbreak was an easy fix, but the betrayal was harder. She looks at Linda. She supposes Linda _had_ told her upfront about her feelings. It was pparent she didn’t want to betray her again.

She lets out a deep sigh and lowers her arms before approaching the counter again. She then rolls her eyes.

 

"Fine," she says, "but if he so much as _looks_ at another woman, I'm going to rip his stupid wings off."

 

Linda smiles, "I would like that very much."

 

" _And_ ," Maze tosses in there," I get to watch."

 

Linda stands up and shakes her head, "No, absolutely not."

 

"Oh, come on," Maze says, " not even once?"

 

Linda shakes her head, no.

 

\--

 

In the hospital, Chloe is curled up comfortably in the same chair and is still talking to Lucifer. It is night time now, and the room is exceptionally dark as no sunlight peers through the nearby blinds.

 

Lucifer sits on his balcony, staring out onto the skyline, the food next to him eaten and gone as he nurses a single glass of whiskey.

 

"Yes, I suppose it’s been quite a lovely time despite my Father’s infuriating disruptions,” he says.

 

“It sounds like you’ve had a long, wonderful life,” Chloe replies.

 

She turns her head to see Dan still sleeping, then moves her phone away to check the time.

 

"Wow," she says, "we've been talking for hours. I should ... I should let you go."

 

"Hmm, Yes. I suppose you should get your sleep."

 

She scoffs, "I won't be getting any sleep tonight. All I have on my mind is how I'm going to tell Trixie about Dan tomorrow."

 

She pauses, a realization just hitting her.

 

"Oh shit, I totally forgot to see if Ella could take Trixie tomorrow."

 

"Ms. Lopez? Detective, she's practically a child herself."

 

Chloe laughs, "I'm going to tell her you said that," she says, "but it's probably too late to ask her, which means I'm going to have to call Linda and ask if she wouldn't mind watching Trixie for another day. Ugh ... I hate that."

 

Lucifer takes a sip of his whiskey, "Spawn are more trouble than they are worth it seems, Detective."

 

The line is silent as Chloe narrows her eyes on the other end. He keeps speaking as if he is the single source on child-rearing, despite not wanting or even having children of his own.

 

Then, something occurs to her, and a shit-eating smile curls onto her mouth.

 

"Mr. Morningstar," she says, the tone in her voice mischievous, "I do believe that neither of us won our bet."

 

"Mmm," he says, lowering his glass and swallowing his whiskey.

 

"Yes, our wager. It seems neither of us came out on top."

 

He pauses.

 

"Which is a shame," he says, "I was quite looking forward to you being  _on top_."

 

He chuckles, but she doesn't take his bait.

 

"If none of us are winners, that means we are both losers, right?"

 

He thinks about it for a moment, and a smile comes to his face. _He might get his dinner after all._

 

"I do believe you are correct, Detective. Does this mean I get to take you to Dinner?"

 

Chloe chuckles, it's slow and low as if she knows she's caught him.

 

"Only if you'll spend a day with Trixie," she says, "Does tomorrow work for you?"

 

Lucifer pauses. She doesn't have to see the look on his face to know what he looks like. She chuckles at his silence, and a small smile creeps up into his mouth.

 

"My, My," he says, "It seems you've managed to trap the devil. Bravo."

 

"Does that mean you'll take Trixie tomorrow?" she asks, the laughter fading from her voice into seriousness.

 

He pauses and brings the whiskey up to his lips as he thinks about it. Would she have dinner with him any other way? Although … he _had_ made a wager and lost, it was only fair he held up his end of the bargain, especially if she was going to hold up her end. Perhaps it would be good to get it out of the way soon. 

 

"Okay, Detective," he says, "I will spend the day with the child tomorrow if you will go to dinner with me this week. I'll pick the place and date, and you wear something ...easily removable."

 

"Easily removable? What kind of girl do you think I am?" she asks, a smile in her voice.

 

"I don't know, Darling, I've been trying to find out."

 

 The line is silent and thick with tension.

 

She sits in her hospital bed, her lip bitten, trying to come up with something to say. Her brain was still, though. For the first time  all day, her mind was still.

 

"I believe this is the part where you wish me a Good Night, Detective," Lucifer says.

 

"Goodnight, Lucifer," she says sweetly.

 

"Goodnight, Detective," he says.

 

The phone clicks, and she places it in her lap. She stares forward, wondering what the hell she just agreed to.

 

Lucifer? With Trixie all day? She turns her head to a still sleeping Dan and sighs.

 

She grabs her phone again and dials Linda's number.

 

"Okay, Lucifer," she says to herself, "let's see what you got."

 

 

 

 


	14. Fair Play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer takes Trixie to the fair, Ezria thinks about what he’s done, Chloe and Dan have a conversation about Lucifer, Chloe and Lucifer take their relationship to the next step and Amenadiel makes a grim discovery about Daniel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the Thanksgiving break and having a full week to write, Here's chapter 14 a full week after the last chapter! Hopefully, I can get the next chapter to you guys in two weeks, but you can keep up to date on that by visiting my Tumblr page at hrfiction.tumblr.com to keep up to date with how the chapters are coming along.

\-----------------------------------

Lucifer opens his eyes as he stands in the center of an endless mist. It is quiet here, except for the distant whispering and the seemingly random fizzle of distant fires. He furrows his eyebrows, slowly realizing he’s been here before.

He turns, trying to gauge how vast this space is, but the fog is so dense in front of him that he can’t see past a few feet.

He looks down to see himself donned in the robes from the Silver City. He reaches out a hand to feel the fabric.

 

_Why does this feel so familiar?_

 

“Samael,” a voice whispers somewhere to his left. He turns to it, a curiosity just behind his eyes.

 

“Hello?” he asks.

 

There is no response, just the soft sound of wind and the slight shift of the fog as something moves just behind his eyes glimpse. He steps forward, trying to get a better glance at what it is, but it’s too fast. It seems to know how to stay just out of his sight.

 

“Samael,” it says again.

 

“Show yourself,” he says, “How do you know my real name?”

 

 _Real name_ , he thinks. What does that even mean?

 

“You don’t belong here,” it says somewhere behind him.

 

He turns around, again barely missing whatever is behind the fog. He can see the shifting mist but nothing beyond that.

 

“Where am I?” he asks, stepping forward.

 

He can barely make out a figure just beyond the mist and steps closer. It doesn’t move. It only stands there, watching.

 

“Who are you?” he asks, tilting his head as he moves forward.

 

Suddenly the fog clears, and he can make out the figure in front of him. He pauses as he stares at an exact copy of himself, and it dawns on him what is happening, what is about to happen.

 

“No,” he says, fear in his eyes.

 

He turns to run, but suddenly the mist is gone, and he is high above an empty void, he turns just as a hand pushes him, knocking him off the edge and sending him careening into the darkness below him.

 

“No!” he screams as he falls. He tries to pop his wings out, but they don’t respond.

 

It’s as if they are broken.

 

He falls for what feels like forever until suddenly his arms are around something, and he can feel the heavy weight of it entangled with his own body. He tilts his head down to see his arms wrapped around a figure. Its golden matted hair is caked with blood.

 

 “What-,” he says to himself, as he brings a hand up to push the hair aside. The head it is attached to turns up, and he sees Chloe staring back at him, except it isn’t her. Her eyes are white and dead, and her skin is pale.

 

“Why did you do it?” she asks in a voice that is not her own.

 

His eyes widen in horror, and he lets go of her just as they both hit a giant cold-water lake.

 

He dives about six feet under the surface, his eyes open. He swims to the top, just breaking the surface as he inhales deeply with a large gasp. The waves are unforgiving and smack him in the face, trying hard to pull him under.

 

He can’t make out much, it is dark here, but he does see her body slowly sinking into the water.

 

“Chloe?” he says.

 

Her body completely disappears, and he is left alone. Just then, another wave comes and smacks him hard, sending him beneath the water.

 

“Chloe!” he screams as water begins to fill his lungs.

 

\--

 

In Lucifer’s penthouse, a sleeping Lucifer lays in his bed as sweat beads form on his brow. Suddenly, he pops up, gasping for air. He catches his breath and looks around before realizing where he is.

 

It was just a dream. Lucifer closes his eyes almost as if praying. As if thanking someone.

 

_It was only a dream._

 

He opens his eyes and turns to the clock. It reads 3:24am. He collapses back down onto the bed and wipes the sweat off his brow with his hand. His breathing starts to become softer and softer until he is lying there, staring at the ceiling.

 

He closes his eyes and turns to his side, trying to go back to sleep. He lays there for a few moments before switching his body to the other side. He is still so hot.

 

He casts the sheets off his body entirely and turns onto his back.

 

He lays there for a moment before his eyes open, fully awake. There was no way he was going back to sleep tonight. He didn’t need it anyway, it was merely a habit.

 

He sighs and sits up, throwing his feet over the side of the bed. He turns his head to the bar, wondering if he should pour himself a drink.

 

 _That would only make him warmer_ , he thinks.

 

He pauses for a moment before standing and shuffling over to the stairs. He descends the two steps into his living room and turns immediately to look at the thermostat. It reads 54 degrees. He lowers it to 50 degrees.

 

“Like most things,” a voice from the balcony says, “fire gets a bad reputation.”

 

Lucifer turns to see a figure with its back turned to him, staring out into the Los Angeles night. It crosses its arms behind its back as if waiting, as if oddly comfortable with its surroundings. He doesn’t recognize the voice.

 

Lucifer looks at him, then turns to the elevator. The elevator was locked. There was no way anyone could get up here unless …

 

He sighs and slowly enters his living room.

 

“Which one are you this time?” he asks, “If you’re not Michael or Amenadiel. Let me guess …”

 

The figure turns around slowly, a smile plastered on its face. It’s a man, early 30’s dressed in a long white tunic with a dark blue crescent moon necklace around his neck.

 

His eyes are white, a pure white that is somehow whiter than he’s typically seen them. His eyes swirl like static on a television.

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows.

 

“Father?” he asks.

 

The man smiles and nods before descending the step into Lucifer’s living room.

 

“I rather enjoy what you’ve done with the place,” he says, turning his eyes to the ancient wall by his bedroom, “The wall is an excellent touch. I’ve been meaning to tell you but well … you ignored me for years.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Well,” he says, turning around and heading to his bar, deciding he needs a drink after all.

 

“Sorry, I couldn’t roll out the red carpet for you, but I usually reserve that for _welcomed_ guests.”

 

God laughs at Lucifer’s snark, but then his smile lowers.

 

“I see you’ve been having nightmares,” he says.

 

Lucifer pauses, his eyes narrowing. He turns back to God and looks over him for a second.

 

“What do you want?” he asks, knowing this conversation is not going anywhere he wants to follow. This couldn’t be just a fatherly visit.

 

God steps further into the living room and looks at one of the chairs. He pauses before slowly sitting in one, seemingly intrigued by its comfort.

 

He sighs and sits further back in the chair.

 

“You know, there is something to be said for experience,” he says, “It’s so easy for me to know everything that was and will be without even asking. But, it’s so much different knowing the sun rises every day if you never get to feel it on your flesh.”

 

“You don’t have flesh,” Lucifer says, annoyed that his question is not being answered.

 

“I used to have flesh,” he replies.

 

“I ask again,” Lucifer says, turning away from the bar and standing tall, “What do you want, Father?”

 

God sighs and stands, “You left before we could discuss my favor.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Well, please do write next time,” he says, turning back to the bar and reaching for a glass, “I’m usually quite indisposed at this hour. Either with sleep or with women. Neither of those I’d like to be interrupted.”

 

God laughs, “You expect me to believe you’ve had women anytime recently?”

 

Lucifer finishes pouring himself a drink then pauses. He looks at himself in the mirror, his eyes narrowing again as a line of questioning pops into his head.

 

He turns slowly to God, “You …” he says as if putting the pieces together, “you are the reason my erections are gone!”

 

God raises his eyebrows and lifts his lip in disgust, “Samael, why would I care to involve myself in your bodily functions?”

 

“Because you’ve been ruining my life since day one!” he says, “you gave me my wings back, didn’t you? Why wouldn’t you take my erections away.”

 

God chuckles to himself and shakes his head,” Samael, I don’t have a hand in those decisions. I merely provide the path, it is you who chooses to walk it.”

 

Lucifer looks at him as if that is the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. He didn’t like liars, and he especially didn’t like manipulators.

 

“Why would I choose impotence, Father? You know what, that is beside the point. Whatever it is you are here to do, consider it a failure.”

 

God’s smile falls.

 

“You made me a promise, Samael,” he says, “you aren’t one to fall back on a promise, are you? Unless that too has changed.”

 

Lucifer stares at him. There is much he isn’t being told, and he is not surprised. It was unlike Father to go the route of non-manipulation.

 

 _Not this time_ , he thinks, _he was done with that_.

 

“I don’t know, Father, you are the one to read minds. Why don’t you read my mind?”

 

“in this mortal?” he asks, “I’d break him if I did that.”

 

Lucifer pauses, then shakes his head, sick laughter in his tone, “Oh, so now you care about mortals? Where was your concern when Daniel was about to blow his brains out?”

 

“I believe you and I have a different understanding of how this all works,” God says.

 

“Yes, for _once_ , we are in agreeance Father. You believe the world is yours to alter and change at your own whim, but what is the purpose of creating beings with free will if none of us really have a choice?!” Lucifer asks.

 

God looks at him, tilting his head in intrigue. Of all the instances of this conversation and every version in every possible instance of the future, there is a slight shock in his eyes that _this_ is the one that is playing out. He seems pleased at this small fact.

 

“You’re upset because of Chloe,” he says.

 

Lucifer looks at him, suddenly finding himself somewhat speechless, “She is none of your concern,” he manages to get out.

 

“You’re angry because you think I planted her,” he says.

 

“I’m angry all the time, Father,” Lucifer says, turning to his drink he poured a long time ago and taking a sip, “You would be too if you had to put up with your nonsense for eternity.”

 

“Well I did,” he says, “I made her for you.”

 

Lucifer shuts his eyes. He didn’t want to hear that. He didn’t want the voice in his head that was saying this was all a lie to be given any credit.

 

 He wanted it to stop talking.

 

“I put her in your path,” he says.

 

“ _Stop,_ ” Lucifer says, turning around,” You don’t get to talk about her.”

 

“But I only provided the path, Samael. You decided to walk it.”

 

“ _Get ou_ t,” Lucifer says, the blue fire in his eyes starting to burn.

 

God smiles. It was so much different experiencing it.

 

“I see,” he says, “you aren’t yet ready for your task.”

 

Lucifer watches him, everything he’s had to say already said.

 

“I will come back another time,” God says, turning and heading to the balcony.

 

Lucifer turns back to his bar, and raises the glass in his hands, his hand already shaking.

 

“But Samael,” God says, turning around to face him.

 

Lucifer raises his eyes and looks at God through the mirror.

 

“Next time, I will not be giving you a choice.”

 

He stands there for a moment, watching Lucifer – staring into his eyes- through the mirror in the bar. Then, God’s eyes roll back and are no longer white but brown. The messenger he was using looks around for a moment, extremely confused. He turns to the city behind him, horror in his eyes.

 

“اين انا؟,” he asks.

 

Lucifer turns and tilts his head. That wasn’t English.

 

“من اين انت؟,” Lucifer asks.

 

“Cairo,” the man replies.

 

Lucifer sighs and rolls his eyes.

 

“Fantastic. He couldn’t leave me with a local?” he says to himself out loud.

 

“yet again, you leave me to clean up your mess,” he says, his eyes turned to the sky. He turns his eyes back to the man and scoffs before downing the drink and setting the empty glass on the bar.

 

“My apologies,” he says, “I don’t mean to drink in front of you, but … let’s be honest. This isn’t going to be fun for either of us.”

 

Lucifer spreads his wings and approaches the man.

 

The man stares in awe. He hadn’t seen this Angel before.

 

“ما هو اسمك؟,” he asks.

 

Lucifer approaches him and wraps his arms around the man in a tight embrace.

 

“Lucifer,” he whispers.

 

The man’s eyes widen in horror as Lucifer jumps, and they both disappear into the sky.

 

\--

 

In hell, Ezria sits in a room next to a giant stone tub that is half full of clean water. He is still covered in blood, and his eyes are still dark and filled with a jet-black ink. He stares forward as if staring into nothingness before glancing down at the stale blood on his hands.

 

It replays in his head, what he did. He could say he didn’t know what came over him, but he knew; he wanted to hurt that demon. He wanted to let go of an eternity of pent up rage and hatred, and it felt … _good_.

 

It felt like every bone in his body had turned to air, and nothing was holding him back, holding him captive.

 

It was the freest he’s ever felt. He wanted to feel that way again. He wanted to feel that way all the time.

 

He wonders if that makes him a monster, to have enjoyed it so much.

 

Suddenly the door swings open slowly, and Calmos enters with two pales of water attached to a yoke around his neck.

 

“This should do it,” he says.

 

Ezria watches as he walks over to the tub and crouches, pulling the yoke off his neck. He grabs a bucket and slowly dumps it into the tub. His eyes turn from the bucket to Ezria, who continues to watch his every move. There is a calmness and stillness in his being that Calmos hasn’t yet seen.

 

It unsettles him.

 

“I uhm … I’m sorry if I made you do something you didn’t want to,” he says.

 

Ezria furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head, “You did nothing wrong,” he says, “I … I rather enjoyed it.”

 

Calmos slowly turns back to the bucket as the last drop slides out. There is a silence between them that is thick and full of questions. Ezria watches Calmos and notices his hesitation. It makes him question himself.

 

“Does that make me … evil?” Ezria asks.

 

Calmos turns back to him as the darkness in his eyes begins to fade to a rich hazel. The muscles in Calmos’ body slowly lose tension he hadn’t realized was there.

 

“I am not the judge of that,” he says, setting the empty bucket down and reaching for the bucket full of water.

 

Ezria turns his eyes down, he doesn’t like that answer. He wanted a no. He wanted to be told it was normal.

 

“But, If I had to make a judgment,” Calmos continues, “I would say that if you didn’t do it, I would have.”

 

“Mm,” Ezria hums, nodding his head. He turns to watch the second bucket be dumped into the tub.

 

“Do you … often find yourself in that position?” he asks.

 

Calmos chuckles, “Just another day in hell. Would not have been the first time my blades have tasted blood.”

 

“Mm,” Ezria says, turning back to his hands.

 

“So you’ve killed before?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

 

Calmos looks at him, then down at the blood on Ezria’s hands. He turns back to the emptying bucket.

 

“Yes, many times,” he says.

 

“Did you like it?” Ezria asks.

 

Calmos pauses, his eyebrows furrowing. Ezria notices something odd behind his eyes that looks an awful lot like regret.

 

Demons don’t show regret or remorse.

 

“No,” Calmos says bluntly, his eyes falling down to the blood on Ezria’s hands again.

 

He turns back to the bucket and turns it upside down to shake loose the last drops of water.

 

“But I like living,” he says, “despite it being difficult, I like it. So, if I need to do that to live, I will.”

 

Calmos sets the bucket on the ground, then reaches his hand in and swirls the water around. It is still cold.

 

“Alright, that should do it,” he says, “Just dump it when you’re done.”

 

Calmos leans down and places the buckets at each end of the yoke as Ezria stands. Ezria slowly unbuttons his shirt. Deliberate in his movements and careful as if the shirt were a gift; the shirt _was_ a gift.

 

“You and I are very similar I’m coming to realize,” he says, his eyes watching as Calmos kneels and places the yoke on his shoulder.

 

“We come from different worlds but our goals, our experiences are the same,” he says, his eyes wandering off into the distance.

 

“unseen, unfeared … unnoticed.”

 

Calmos stands, and the empty buckets swing free by his side. He watches Ezria.

 

“Perhaps that is why I’ve taken so quickly to you, Calmos,” he says, turning back to Calmos as he casts his shirt aside.

 

“But I am beneath you,” Calmos says, “you’ve made that very clear.”

 

“Mm,” Ezria hums and nods.

 

Calmos’s eyes drift down Ezria’s torso, then back up to him. Ezria tilts his head as he watches the way Calmos takes in his form. Ezria reaches down to unbutton his pants.

 

“I … I will leave you to your privacy,” he says, turning and heading for the door.

 

“I’m sorry if I scared you,” Ezria says, unzipping his pants and stepping out of the legs one by one.

 

Calmos turns and cautions a glance at Ezria’s nude form, a shock of electricity running down to his groin.

 

“I did scare you, didn’t I?” Ezria asks, almost as if wanting him to say yes.

 

Calmos averts his eyes, but it's already burned into his memory. He wasn’t the best an Angel could be, clearly. Lucifer was way more fit than Ezria, but … Ezria was still an angel, and his body was clearly made to be perfect; every _single_ inch.

 

“Yes,” Calmos says, a quiver in his voice, “when you go all …dark eyed on me sometimes it scares me.”

 

“And others?” Ezria asks curiously.

 

Calmos turns just as Ezria has turned his back and begins to step into the tub. He gets an eyeful of Ezria’s backside before he slides into the cold waters and relaxes. Ezria turns his head to Calmos when he doesn’t get an answer.

 

“Calmos?” he asks.

 

Calmos knocks out of that thought that was creeping into his head and turns away. He slides the bag draped around his side to his front to cover his half-erect penis.

 

“Other times, I wonder why it doesn’t.”

 

“Hmm,” Ezria hums, a strange tone to his voice.

 

 _Curiosity._ Demons weren’t curious.

 

Ezria narrows his eyes and turns back to Calmos.

 

“you’re an odd demon, Calmos,” he says.

 

Calmos lets go of a nervous chuckle and heads towards the door.

 

“I like that,” Ezria finishes.

 

Calmos smiles and exits, gently shutting the door behind him, a profound realization behind his eyes.

 

Ezria was _definitely_ his type.

 

\--

 

Inside the room, Ezria sits inside the tub. He stares the wall in front of him. On it, a single candle burns.

It was strange being free from that cage after so long. Part of him was happy he was out while the other part found comfort in the darkness, in confinement.

He imagines it might have been harder had he not found Calmos. Strange as that demon might seem, it was nice to have a friend.

 

_Friend._

 

That felt odd to think, especially about a demon.

Demons were disloyal and crass. They had no interest in anything or anyone besides those that were of benefit to them. They weren’t manipulative, but not out of any sense of honor but more out of a lack of interest.

Calmos, though, he was … oddly kind and wanted nothing from Ezria. In fact, he was downright stubborn at times, it seemed, and had no qualms about telling Ezria how he felt about his behavior.

 

Ezria pauses.

 

Feelings. Demons didn’t have feelings. He narrows his eyes and turns his eyes back to the door where Calmos had just left.

So what was wrong with Calmos? And why did he care to fix it? His eyes glance down to the water he sits in, the blood on his hands has already started to come off, tinting the water pink. He rubs his hands together, as more blood leaks into the water. His train of thought changes.

 

He relaxes further and slides down in the tub, allowing the water to come up to just below his nose. He remembers what it was like to rip that demon apart. What his blades wouldn’t do, he did with his own bare hands, and it felt … amazing.

He should feel bad, right? Angels weren’t supposed to interfere with the progression of life. Even Father had cast demons away instead of destroying them. Yet here he was… wanting to relive that again.

 

Wanting to peer into the eyes of that demon and see genuine fear again.

Wanting to feel the warmth of fresh blood on his skin again.

He rubs his hands together, as more blood leaks into the water. Darkness starts to bleed into his eyes again.

He wanted the water to be _red._

 

\--

 

Inside Linda’s home, Maze, Trixie, and Linda sit at the table, having brunch. Linda sits back, completely satisfied with her meal and sipping slowly on coffee while Maze, yet again, tears into a plate full of pure bacon.

 

Linda shakes her head, “I wish I had your metabolism,” she says.

 

Maze smiles and bites into another piece of bacon.

 

Linda laughs just as the doorbell rings.

 

Linda sets the coffee down on the table and stands, “Finally,” she says, “I think Lucifer is here.”

 

Trixie smiles and slides off the seat, following behind Linda. Linda approaches her door. She unlocks it and swings it open to see Lucifer standing there, his hands in his pocket and a smile on his face.

 

“Lucifer,” Linda says, “I hadn’t expected you’d show up this early. I thought I’d have at least another hour before you came.”

 

 “Well, I had to -“

 

The second he crosses the threshold, Trixie runs up to him from behind Linda.

 

“Lucifer!” she says, her hands outstretched and coated in bacon grease and pancake syrup.

 

“Ah, Ah!” he says, jumping back from her, “Not on the suit!”

 

“Go wash your hands,” Linda says softly to Trixie. She nods and turns around, heading into a small hallway that leads to the bedrooms.

 

 “I swear,” Lucifer says to Linda, “Like mother like daughter. It’s like there is a genetic predisposition to ruining high thread count cotton.”

 

Linda rolls her eyes and shuts the door before heading back to the table to sit back in her seat.

 

“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” she asks as Lucifer takes a seat next at the end of the table.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his eyes turning to the table of food in front of him, “I thought we’d do something interesting.”

 

“Hopefully something child-friendly?” Linda asks.

 

“Hmm?” he says, turning to Linda.

 

“You know, something that doesn’t involve things an eight-year-old child shouldn’t experience?”

 

“Oh, Right,” he says, clearly distracted, “Yes. I figured we’d go to the park or something. Children need to be walked, right?”

 

Linda rolls her eyes and sighs, “She’s not a dog, Lucifer.”

 

Just then, Bubbles comes trotting from a room nearby and sits at Lucifer’s feet. Lucifer turns to him.

 

“Cassius, Old boy. How is earth treating you?” he asks.

 

Bubbles barks, and Lucifer nods.

 

“Excellent,” he says.

 

Linda pauses as if running back what she just heard in her mind, “I’m sorry … _earth_?”

 

“So you’re going to take her to a park all day? That’s like a two-hour affair at best,” Maze says from experience.

 

 “I like Parks,” Trixie says as she approaches the table and takes a seat.

 

“See?” he says, his eyes trailing over the food again, “She likes parks.”

 

Linda narrows her eyes and watches as Lucifer eyes food still left on the table.

 

“Would you like something to eat?” she asks.

 

“No, I couldn’t,” he says, brushing her off.

 

“I insist,” she counters.

 

“Well if you’re offering,” he says, very quickly giving in to the idea in a way that makes Linda laugh.

 

He stands up and leans forward, grabbing a plate with a small pile of scrambled eggs on it and dumping it onto the plate with a few strips of bacon left. Then he sits back down and grabs a serving fork before he starts to shovel food into his mouth as if he hasn’t eaten in forever.

 

Linda, Maze, and Trixie watch him with a mix of curiosity, disgust, and entertainment.

 

“Wow, you’re uh … you’re hungry, huh?” Linda says.

 

Lucifer pulls a fork up to his mouth, turns to Linda, then looks at Trixie and Maze before realizing he must look foolish. He takes another bite then sets the fork down, deliberately slowing his chewing despite that not being what he wanted to do.

 

“Yes, well. I may be a bit famished. I had to fly to Egypt this morning and get back in time to get a new vehicle.”

 

“Egypt? Linda says, “Like … _Egypt_ , Egypt?”

 

Lucifer turns to her with an annoyed look in his eyes that suggests he is over being questioned.

 

“Do let me know if you know of another country named Egypt, Linda,” he says looking at her oddly, “and _you’re_ the doctor?”

 

Linda sits back, slightly offended, but equipped to handle his mood swings.

 

“You’re deflecting,” she says calmly.

 

“I am not!” he yells, anger behind his words as he drops his fork onto his plate with a clatter. It sends a silenced hush throughout the table.

 

The tension is thick, and he recognizes it right away. He turns his eyes to Maze, who crosses her arms, then to Trixie, who looks … frightened.

 

He doesn’t like that.

 

He pauses and nods, “Right, I suppose that was a little … strong. My apologies.”

 

“Are you feeling alright?” Linda says, “Do we need to talk about something?”

 

“I suppose I have been a little on edge lately,” he says.

 

“If you’d like, I can clear some time for you tomorrow?” Linda says. It’s clearly a question, but she says it like a statement.

 

He tosses her a small smile then picks his fork back up, “I … I don’t think that will be necessary, but I appreciate the offer.”

 

Linda nods and picks up her cup of coffee. They sit in silence for a moment. She watches him, thoughts spinning behind her eyes. He swallows his food, and his eyes turn up to a jug of orange juice.

 

“May I?” he asks. Linda turns to it and smiles before getting up.

 

“I’ll get you a glass,” she says.

 

“Thank you,” he replies.

 

“So, you’re going to take her to the park?” Maze asks again, a tint of annoyance in her voice at his behavior.

 

Lucifer nods and moves to take another bite of his food.

 

“Whichever place requires the least bit of effort on my part and the most entertainment for the child would be lovely.”

 

“You know, you should take her to the state fair,” Linda says as she returns with his glass.

 

Trixie’s eyes light up. Lucifer turns to her as she sits up in her a chair, a broad smile on her face.

 

“Oh,” he says, looking at Trixie and turning to Linda, “She quite likes that idea. I can see all her teeth. At least the ones that haven’t fallen out.”

 

“It has entertainment, games, and food. And if you want to spend a little extra, it has prizes,” Linda says.

 

“Sounds like a one-stop-shop to me,” Maze says.

 

Lucifer nods and turns to Trixie.

 

“What say you little one?” he asks, “Is that what your questionably small heart desires?”

 

She nods, “Can we eat funnel cake!?”

 

“Funnel Cake?” Lucifer asks, “Darling, I don’t know what that is, but it sounds _delightful._ ”

 

Linda chuckles into her cup of coffee then looks down at Trixie’s nearly empty plate.

 

“Are you finished?” Linda asks. Trixie nods.

 

“Why don’t you go and get ready then?”

 

Trixie pushes her chair from the table and runs into a back room.

 

The second Trixie disappears into the backroom, Linda leans in and lowers her voice.

 

 “Any new information on Dan?” Linda asks.

 

Lucifer chuckles, “No, but I assure you all is well. Daniel will make a full recovery. He’ll be back to being a douche in no time.”

 

Linda sighs and sits back in her seat.

 

“Oh good,” she says, relieved, “I was really, really worried there. Did you tell Chloe that?”

 

“Of course, the detective and I had a good long phone call last night.”

 

“I bet,” Maze says, chuckling to herself. Lucifer looks at her for a moment and narrows his eyes.

 

Linda chuckles and reaches for her coffee.

 

“I remember those long night phone calls, “she says,” my first boyfriend and I used to stay up way past midnight and just …talk about everything under the sun.”

 

“Talking isn’t my strength,” Maze says.

 

“yes, well, we had a rather lovely conversation about… well a lot of things,” Lucifer says.

 

He turns to Maze, “I told her about the harem in Italy.”

 

“No!” Maze says with a smile on her face, “You didn’t?!”

 

“I did. Certainly, she didn’t find it as amusing as we did, but …”

 

He pauses, staring off into the distance. A small smile still plastered on his face.

 

“It was … rather nice.”

 

“It was,” Maze says, staring off into the distance herself.

 

“I was referring to the phone call,” Lucifer says.

 

Maze shrugs, “I wasn’t. Again, talking, not my jam.”

 

She pauses and turns to him curiously. She leans forward on the table, “Though … to be fair, neither is yours. Or, at least it never used to be. What did you really do?” she asks, “have a little phone sex? You know all the phones have cameras on them now, right?”

 

Linda reaches over and slaps Maze on the hand, “Maze!”

 

Maze shrugs, “What? I’m just asking. I mean, clearly, he’s whipped.”

 

Maze looks at him, slowly nodding.

 

“The sex must be amazing.”

 

Linda groans and reaches for her coffee cup.

 

“What?” Maze says, “I have a talent for knowing these things. She’s definitely not a vanilla type of girl.”

 

Maze turns to Lucifer, “Back me up on this,” she says.

 

Lucifer doesn’t respond. He just stares at his plate. Maze tilts her head curiously before her eyes widen, and a disgusted look crawls across her face.

 

“You two _have_ had sex, right? Please don’t tell me you’re doing all this, and you haven’t even had sex with her,” she says, horror in her voice.

 

Trixie comes out of the backroom, a backpack on her back with a little teddy bear sticking out of the top.

 

“Okay, I’m ready,” she says, walking up behind Lucifer.

 

“Can we have ice cream too?” she asks.

 

Lucifer reaches for the orange juice and downs the rest of it.

 

“Anything you desire. Just make sure you tell your mother you had a wonderful time, okay?”

 

“Lucifer?” Maze asks, the tone of her voice stern.

 

He scoots himself away from the table and stands before buttoning his jacket. He is not amused.

 

“Holy Hell!” she says, placing her hand on her forehead like she can’t believe this, “No wonder you’re so ready to bite our heads off! You’re frustrated, Lucifer! You gotta clean the pipes out, bro!”

 

“Clean the pipes?” Trixie asks.

 

Lucifer cringes and ushers Trixie towards the door.

 

 “Come, child,” he says, not paying them any mind.

 

“Lucifer…” Linda says softly, trying to make him feel better.

 

He pushes Trixie towards the door as bubbles happily trots behind them.

 

“Stay,” Lucifer says.

 

Bubbles whines and sits in place.

 

“Oh, come on,” Maze says as he starts to head towards the door. Linda tosses a dirty look to Maze and stands, following them to the door.

 

Lucifer swings the door open and lets Trixie go first before stepping through. Linda shortly comes behind him.

 

“Lucifer,” she says, her tone soft.

 

“I don’t need to explain myself to either of you,” he says, walking into her driveway.

 

“You’re absolutely right,” she says, following him, “It’s none of our –“

 

She pauses as she turns the corner to see a brand new black minivan sitting in her driveway. Lucifer reaches into his pocket and presses a button on the remote, and the door slides open.

 

“Is that … Is that a minivan?” Linda asks, “What happened to your fancy car?”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “with a child?” he asks.

 

Linda shakes her head. She doesn’t know what she was thinking.

 

“You’re right,” she says, waiving that question off, “It’s dange-“

 

“Expensive,” he says, interrupting her.

 

She pauses, “Expensive?’

 

Trixie climbs into the backseat and sets her backpack beside her before reaching back and snapping the seatbelt.

 

“Yes,” Lucifer says, turning to Linda, “can you imagine how much it would be to clean jelly, or whatever it is that makes children’s hands so sticky, off of pure Italian leather?”

 

Lucifer chuckles, “Not that I can’t afford it,” he follows up.

 

Linda looks at him, shocked. Then she shrugs. She supposes the reasoning didn’t matter. He actually went out of his way and got a … minivan. She narrows her eyes.

 

“Not that it’s never been sticky before, mind you,” he says with a cheeky grin.

 

She rolls her eyes, “You’re deflecting again.”

 

He pauses and looks at her. He doesn’t like that she keeps psychoanalyzing him.

 

“Save it for the sessions, Doctor Martin. Otherwise, we’ll have nothing to talk about.”

 

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms as he presses a button, and the door to the van slides closes.

 

“You will stop by tomorrow, right? So we can actually talk about whatever this is?” she says, waving her hands over his body to indicate she knows something is going on with him.

 

Lucifer sighs, “I’ll consider it,” he says, opening the front door.

 

“You do want it to happen, don’t you? You and Chloe?” she asks.

 

He pauses for a second as if running that question through his head. He turns and shuts the front door before stepping towards Linda.

 

“Do you believe I have ever wanted anything else?”

 

“I know for a fact that Chloe wants to,” Linda says, “So if it is true, you haven’t … it’s not her, it’s you. It’s something you did or something you haven’t done. Or, as I suspect, it’s because you aren’t dealing with something.”

 

“I am perfectly fine. The Detective and I are just … taking things slow.”

 

“I thought you never lied, Lucifer?”

 

He pauses. He doesn’t like the insinuation. His tone changes.

 

“I’d be careful of your insinuations, Doctor Martin.”

 

“Denial is when you lie to yourself. When you lie to yourself about the real reason, you haven’t crossed that line yet. About the real reason, you call the one moment of true vulnerability you’ve had as the incident.”

 

He narrows his eyes and looks at her. She can see his mind racing.

 

“Come see me tomorrow,” she says, her shoulders dropping in submission, “at worst you’ll have to hear me talk for an hour. At best, … you might end up getting laid.”

 

He looks at her oddly, and it dawns on her what she said.

 

“Not by me!” she clarifies, “I mean, Chloe.”

 

Lucifer chuckles and turns to open the door to the van again.

 

 “and Lucifer,” she says.

 

He pauses and turns to her.

 

“Don’t fuck this up,” she says, nudging her head to Trixie.

 

He turns to see Trixie in the back seat playing on a tablet, then turns to Linda. He nods and climbs into the driver's seat before turning the engine.

 

\--

 

Inside a small one-bedroom apartment where the kitchen, dining room, and living room is all one space, all are comfortably still.

 

The spaces are distinguished only by neatly and appropriately placed furniture, but they all open up to the view of the city through a large glass window. The kitchen is full of stainless-steel appliances and off gray cabinets and has only a pot of coffee and a half-used roll of paper towels on the counter.

 

The dining room is indicated by a small oak table with solid red placemats, and the living room features a steel and gray sofa and a plush white rug.

There is no television here, just a small coffee table with faux plants. This is clearly the apartment of someone with enough money to afford such a nice place and a nice view. Still, it looks more like a model home than something someone lives in.

 

It is still here, and if it weren’t for the faint sound of a shower going in the nearby bedroom, it would seem _unlived_ in.

The shower cuts off, and the apartment dips into silence again before Natalie Edwards, donned in a fluffy blue rube, steps into the living area from the bedroom. Her hair is damp, and it is clear the robe is the only thing she wears.

 

She walks around the kitchen counter and reaches into the fridge to pull out a bottle of orange juice and a can of sparkling water. She sets them on the counter then turns to a nearby cupboard to pull out a slice of bread.

 

She takes two slices out of the package and slides them into the toaster. She presses the slider, sending them into the toaster before the red hot coils begin to heat up.

She turns to another cupboard and pulls out a glass and sets it on the counter by the sink. She looks up, out into the open window before turning her eyes back down and opening up the bottle of orange juice. She pours half of it into the glass before turning to the can of sparkling water and pouring the other hand on top. The bubbles rise and fizz as she sets the can down, her eyes staring at it as if a memory just popped into her head.

 

\--

 

Inside a busy night club, Natalie slides between two bar-goers and leans over the bar, trying to catch the bartender’s attention. She’s slightly younger, perhaps in her late 20’s, but her attitude is the same. She wears a deep red button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone and a tight black skirt.

“Hey!” she says, trying to catch the bartender's attention. It doesn’t work, and she sighs before turning her head to the couple to the left of her. Two women hold each other’s hands lovingly and stare into each other’s eyes. One leans in and whispers something while other giggles.

 

She raises her eyebrows and rolls her eyes them in disinterest and turns back to the bartender. He catches her eyes, and she nods, raising her hand.

 

“Hey!” she says, beckoning him over.

 

He walks over to her.

 

“What can I get you?” he says, his voice light and effeminate.

 

“Yeah, let me get a Guinness,” she says.

 

He nods and turns behind him to pull out a tall bottle with a dark, rich liquid inside.

 

She turns her back to him and glances out at a giant floor of dancing bodies in front of her. Some trance song is playing, something that doesn’t interest her, and by the look in her eyes, none of these people interest her either.

 

“Five bucks,” the bartender says as he sets an ice-cold glass of Guinness behind her.

 

She turns, sees the beer and smiles. She reaches into the pockets of her tight skirt and pulls out a twenty-dollar bill. He takes it from her and slides fifteen back before immediately turning as another patron flags him down.

 

She grabs the beer and turns back to the dance floor before taking a sip. Her eyes glance around the floor before landing on a woman dancing in a group of women. The other women in the group are more her type, tall, possibly limber, and dressed in tight-fitting clothing. This woman, however, wears a loose sundress with a thin cardigan. Natalie brings the beer up to her lips and takes a sip.

 

It’s like a school teacher or mom decided to chaperone her students. She chuckles to herself as she takes another sip of her beer. She turns her back to the dance floor and leans on the bar, still sipping her beer.

 

Why did she even come here tonight? What was the purpose? Well, she knew what the goal was, but … she had a vibrator at home that could do the same thing and would probably be less of a headache in the morning.

 

She sighs and takes another sip of her beer. The music changes into a different song, and Natalie turns to see the group of women dancing has dispersed. The school teacher looking woman approaches the bar and squeezes between two patrons, just a few seats down from her. Natalie leans in and watches her, something intriguing about this woman.

 

“Hey!” she says, trying to flag down the bartender. The bartender doesn’t see her and moves closer to Natalie to serve another patron.

 

“For Fucks sake,” Liz says, sliding out from the bar and moving down towards the end of the bar where the bartender is.

 

Natalie takes a sip of her beer just as Liz slides next to her.

 

“Excuse me!” she says, waving to the bartender. The bartender turns to her and waves, indicating he’s seen her. Natalie turns to Liz, and they catch glances.

 

“It’s impossible to get a drink around here,” Liz says joking.

 

Natalie shrugs and holds up her almost finished beer, “not _that_ hard.”

 

Liz nods and turns back to the bartender. Her eyes turn back to Natalie as Natalie takes another gulp of her beer.

 

“What is that?” she asks.

 

Natalie swallows the gulp then looks at Liz. Liz points to the beer in her hand.

 

“It’s a beer,” Natalie says, “Guinness stout.”

 

“Beer?” Liz says, “Oh, I hate beer.”

 

Natalie laughs, “Yeah, you don’t look like the beer type to me.”

 

Liz frowns, “What is that supposed to mean?”

 

“You don’t look like you drink beer,” Natalie says bluntly.

 

Liz chuckles to herself, “You don’t talk to people much, do you?”

 

Natalie pauses.

 

“Excuse me?” Natalie says, offended.

 

The bartender approaches.

 

“What can I get you?” he asks.

 

“I’ll take a vodka soda,” she says.

 

The bartender nods and turns to grab a glass.

 

“Vodka Soda, huh?” Natalie says, nodding to herself, almost impressed.

 

“What were you expecting me to order like a … cosmopolitan? Or like a daiquiri?”

 

Natalie smiles.

 

“Perhaps a sex on the beach?” Liz says, an implication in her eyes.

 

Natalie pauses and turns to Liz. Her eyes fall to Liz’s lips.

 

“I’m Natalie,” she says.

 

“Elizabeth, but my friends call me Eliza.”

 

Natalie smiles. She wasn’t interested in being her friend.

 

“So, you don’t like sugary drinks? Or are you afraid with your outfit you’d seem too cliché?” Natalie asks.

 

Liz pauses and looks down at her outfit.

 

“What’s wrong with my outfit?”

 

“Nothing, if you’re chaperoning a field trip,” Natalie says.

 

Liz bursts out into laughter and shakes her head. It forces a smile onto Natalie’s face.

 

“I just … like the taste, is all. I like to taste what I’m drinking. Puts some hair on my chest.”

 

“I hope not,” Natalie says.

 

Liz smiles just as the bartender comes back and slides a vodka soda her way.

 

“If you play your cards right, you might find out,” Liz says.

 

Natalie looks at her, a visible intrigue in her eyes.

 

“That’ll be 8 bucks,” the bartender says.

 

Without looking, Natalie pulls the fifteen dollars out of her pocket and slides it the bartender's way.

 

She downs the last gulp of her beer.

 

“Let me get another Guinness, keep the change,” she says, briefly turning to the bartender before locking eyes with Liz again. The bartender nods takes the money, and turns to get another beer.

 

“You don’t have to pay for my drink. I’m a big girl,” Liz says.

 

Nat smiles and nods.

 

“Yeah, well … I don’t talk to many people, remember? Consider it a gift for keeping me company while I finish my beer.”

 

“But you just ordered another beer?” Liz says.

 

Natalie smiles and turns to her,” I didn’t say _which_ beer.”

 

\--

 

Later, Natalie and Liz sit at a booth in the corner of the bar. Lis is laughing, and a seemingly relaxed and carefree Natalie sits nearby with a deeply entrenched smile on her face. Liz peers over momentarily just as a woman waves to her. She waves back as the woman leaves.

 

She turns back to Natalie, who twirls the empty glass on the table. They sit in comfortable silence.

 

Liz watches her, her eyes glancing over every inch of Natalie’s body. Natalie catches her looking, and her smile fades.

 

“Yes?” she asks.

 

Liz tilts her head, narrowing her eyes

 

“I would ask if you got out much, but … just by you being here, I’d assume you do. Which begs the question … why are you so strange?”

 

Natalie raises her eyes as if caught off guard by that statement.

 

“I mean obviously I’m into it if I’m talking to you but … what are we talking about here? High Functioning Autism? Bad experience with women? Shitty childho-“

 

“Why do you care?” Natalie says, starting to get uncomfortable.

 

Liz sits back in the booth,” I like to know what makes people tick, and you, Natalie, are a very strange clock.”

 

Natalie rolls her eyes. She came here for a potential lover for the night, not someone to talk to.

 

“I uhm, I think we have different ideas on what to expect for tonight,” she says, shifting in her seat and getting ready to leave.

 

“So, you don’t want to have sex with me?” Liz asks.

 

Natalie pauses.

 

“I don’t mind the odd one-night stand,” Liz says, “I’d just like to know a little about the people I’m getting into bed with.”

 

Natalie looks at her, not sure how to take her forwardness. She didn’t want to discuss herself, but the bluntness of this woman was … refreshing. She didn’t have to do mental gymnastics to figure out what she wanted.

 

 “So,” Liz says, sliding slightly closer to Natalie, “what do you do for a living?”

 

Natalie nods, “I’m a Police Officer.”

 

“Yeah?” Liz says a giant smile on her face over how awkward Natalie is.

 

“A cop,” Liz continues taking that in,” that must be tough. Being a female cop. Do they make you partner up with like a … muscle macho man?”

 

Natalie, “No, I mean, my partner is a very fit guy, but … I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

 

“I bet,” Liz says, again a deep insinuation in her voice.

 

“Still,” Liz says, “It must feel good sometimes to punish the bad guys.”

 

Natalie smiles, “That’s not what we do, but yeah, it feels good to …. punish sometimes.”

 

They nod and look at each other as if feeling each other out and understanding something that is not being spoken directly. Natalie relaxes back into her seat, and Liz watches as she lowers her shields again.

 

“So, what do you do? You have me telling all my secrets, but I only know your name, Eliza.”

 

She laughs, “I told you, only my friends call me Eliza.”

 

Natalie fake frowns, “Oh, so we’re not friends?”

 

“Not yet,” Liz says.

 

Natalie nods, “Okay, _Liz,_ what do you do for a living? Wait, let me guess … math teacher.”

 

Liz chuckles and leans forward in the booth, “You’ll be surprised to know I actually work for Helmann and Smith.”

 

“A lawyer?” Natalie says, actually surprised.

 

Liz laughs and nods, “A damn good one if I say so myself.”

 

“Wow,” Natalie says, sitting up in the booth.

 

“Small world, huh?” Liz says with a smile.

 

“So, how is a woman like you single?” Natalie asks, “A beautiful, clearly intelligent single woman in Los Angeles?”

 

Liz smiles, “One could say the same for you.”

 

“Oh, I know why I’m single,” Natalie says, “because relationships don’t work.”

 

Liz nods, “You don’t like people, do you?”

 

“The feeling is mutual,” Natalie says.

 

“But, you like me, right?” Liz says, sliding closer to her.

 

Natalie watches as she gets close, “I … the jury is still out.”

 

Liz chuckles. The chuckle falls into a hum. Natalie smiles.

 

They get close, so close that their eyes ping pong back and forth between each other, waiting on who will make the first move.

Liz watches her, the smile on her face slowly falling, and an intensity behind her eyes starts to develop. This woman was strange but in a good way. It was like cracking open the hard shell of candy to find a gooey center. She wanted badly to know what that center tasted like.

 

“A cop and a lawyer walk into a bar,” Natalie begins to say before Liz lunges forward and plants a kiss onto Natalie’s lips, effectively shutting her up.

 

Natalie immediately reciprocates, not a single ounce of hesitation. There, in the corner booth of the bar, their tongues dance over one another as Natalie brings a hand up and slides it beneath Liz’s sundress. Liz sits back from her.

 

“Do you want to get out of here?” she asks, her voice deep with desire.

 

Natalie nods.

 

\--

 

Inside a – quite frankly – s _hitty_ apartment, it is dark, but the light from the street outside filters into the room, revealing minimal furnishing. Despite it clearly being an older building, everything inside looks pristine and in order.

 

Outside, Natalie and Liz kiss their way up to the door before Natalie reaches down into her purse and pulls out a set of keys. Liz is forced to separate from her as Natalie puts the key into the lock. The second the door opens, Liz filters in and kicks off her shoes. Natalie looks at them as if ready to say something until Liz slips off the cardigan over her dress and slowly slides the strap of her dress over her shoulder. It shuts whatever Natalie was about to say up. She closes and locks the door behind them before setting her purse on the side table and sliding her shoes off. She tucks her shoes beneath the table and stands, reaching up to unbutton her blouse.

 

“What is your safe word,” Natalie says, approaching Liz.

 

Liz chuckles, “Do I need one?”

 

Natalie smiles, “Yes.”

 

“Have I been a bad girl?” Liz says, sliding the other strap off her shoulders and letting the dress fall at her feet. She steps out of it and kicks it to the side.

 

Natalie watches as the dress falls haphazardly in the corner. Her eyes turn to it, then back to Liz.

 

“Yes,” she says.

 

“Are you going to punish me, officer?” she asks, reaching her hands back and unclipping her bra. She slips her arms out of her bra and drops it to the side. Natalie takes in the sight of her naked chest.

 

She smiles, “I intend to,” she says, stepping closer as Liz backs up, further towards what she assumes to be the bedroom, “But first I need to know your safe word.”

 

Natalie approaches, and Liz looks at her, smiling. She sees the seriousness in Natalie’s eyes, and her smile drops.

 

“Really?” Liz says.

 

Natalie nods.

 

“Uh … okay,” Liz says, brought out of what she considered to be part of the foreplay.

 

“Is that okay?” Natalie asks, wondering if she’s down for what is about to happen.

 

“Yeah… yeah, uhm,” Liz says, staring down, trying to come up with a word.

 

Natalie slowly continues to unbutton her shirt until all the buttons are undone, and she slides it off her body and gently tosses it onto the back of the nearby sofa. Liz’s eyes trail up her body and suddenly stop on a significant scar to the right of her abdomen. Her eyes widen, and Natalie reaches up and tilts her head upward, so their eyes meet.

 

“Your safe word,” Natalie asks.

 

Liz’s eyes move down to Natalie’s lips and turn to the sofa as she catches a glimpse of Natalie’s shit. It’s a deep, vibrant red.

 

“Red,” Liz says, turning her eyes back to Natalie.

 

Natalie hums in approval,” That’s a good one,” she says before leaning in and kissing Liz. It starts off reluctant, but Liz soon melts into her body, and their kissing becomes passionate again as they slowly move towards the bedroom.

 

\--

 

Back in her apartment, Natalie is jettisoned out of her memory as a tall woman walks out of her bedroom. In her hands, she carries her shoes and a crumpled jacket. She pauses when her eyes meet Natalie’s.

 

“Oh,” she says, hoping she could have snuck out, “uhm … Good Morning.”

 

Natalie stands up, from leaning on the counter, “Good Morning,” she says.

 

The woman cautiously approaches the counter, and they stand in silence for a second.

 

“I, uhm … I just wanted to say I had a great time last night,” she says.

 

Natalie smiles, “Yeah, I know. You had four great times,”

 

The woman blushes and nods, combing her hair back with her hands.

 

“I just … I don’t want you to think I do this all the time. I’m actually not really into women, I don’t know what got into me last night.”

 

Natalie nods, “I could name a few things.”

 

The woman blushes again and tries to shake off the fact that she wants to do it again.

 

“I just … I think we should just be friends,” the woman says, trying to cut her explanation short.

 

Natalie audibly laughs, catching the woman off guard.

 

“It’s fine, I get it. You don’t have to pretend to want to keep in contact with me. What we did last night was fun and great, but … we don’t need to extend this into something it isn’t.”

 

“Oh,” the woman says, pleasantly surprised, “Okay, well … cool.”

 

Natalie nods and turns to the bottle of orange juice on the counter.

 

“Would you like some orange juice?” she asks.

 

The woman waves her off, “No, I think I’m just going to head out.”

 

Natalie nods.

 

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” she says, waving as she approaches the door.

 

“You as well, Rachel,” Natalie says.

 

Rachel reaches for the door handle and pauses. She turns back to Natalie, and they make eye contact.

 

“Yeah,” she says as she opens the door and leaves.

 

Natalie pauses, she knows that look. She’s given that look many times. Rachel didn’t even know her name.

 

She turns back to her drink on the table as the soda water continues to bubble.

 

She sighs and grabs it before taking a sip and staring out the window.

 

\--

 

Lucifer, his hands in his pockets, walks through a crowd of state fair goers as Trixie skips in excitement next to him. He looks around at all the stalls at people and their offspring and sighs. He was one of them now. He turns down to Trixie.

 

“Okay, child,” he says, “What would you like to do first?”

 

Trixie looks around at all the stalls. The area they are in is light with people, and she can clearly see all of the game attendants entertaining a few people, or in some cases, not at all. She turns to a ring toss stall and sees a giant pink teddy bear hanging from a hook in the prize section. A Large smile comes to her face.

 

“I want to win a teddy bear,” she says, pointing to it the stall.

 

Lucifer turns to the stall she is pointing to, then to the teddy bear.

 

“Ring toss! Ten dollars,” the game attendant yells, “Come try your hand to win a prize!”

 

Lucifer nods.

 

“Alright,” he says.

 

They approach the stall.

 

“You folks care to make a wager?” the attendant says.

 

Lucifer tilts his head in interest. Now they are speaking his language.

 

“Ironically, that is how I ended up here,” he says.

 

The man sees he has Lucifer’s interest and smiles before turning to a table full of empty milk bottles.

 

“I’d wager you can’t get one ring on these bottles. If you do, I’ll get you one of our many fantastic prizes.”

 

Lucifer nods to the teddy bear, “What about the bear?”

 

The man turns to it and nods, “You want the bear? Land the rings and get the bear,” he says.

 

Lucifer reaches into his pocket and pulls out his money clip. He flips through hundred-dollar bills, then 50, then twenty and finally ten. The man watches him, his eyes caught on the money. Finally, Lucifer pulls out one single ten-dollar bill and hands it to the man. He graciously accepts and reaches down to pull out a bucket of rings. Lucifer’s eyes widen.

 

“That’s how many rings we get?” he asks.

 

The man nods and slides the plastic bucket his way.

 

“And you get to keep the bucket.”

 

Lucifer laughs to himself at how easy this is going to be and turns to Trixie. She smiles up at him as he slides the bucket her way.

 

 “Go on,” he says, motioning to her to toss the rings.

 

Trixie smiles and grabs one of the rings from the bucket and tosses it. It hits the edge of a bottle and slides between them, hitting the tray below.

 

“Oh!” the attendant says, “Close one. Try again.”

 

Trixie takes the second ring and tosses it. Again, it hits the edge of the bottle and slides into the tray below. Lucifer reaches out and grabs a ring himself and tosses it. It does the same thing. He’s beginning to realize why this is a wager.

 

One by one, Trixie and Lucifer take turns tossing rings into the rows of bottles only to have them slide down between the bottles until the bucket is empty.

 

“Ohhh,’ the attendant says, “Good tries all around. How about one more round?”

 

Lucifer sighs and shakes his head.

 

“Perhaps later,” he says. He turns to see a frowning Trixie. He tilts his head in confusion.

 

“Why do you have that look on your face?” he asks.

 

“I wanted the teddy bear,” she says.

 

Lucifer sighs, “Right, well … we didn’t win the game, so we didn’t get a prize. Surely you see how that works?”

 

Trixie nods, the frown still on her face.

 

Lucifer sighs and reluctantly turns to the attendant.

 

“How much for the bear?” he asks.

 

The attendant shakes his head, “Sorry, prizes are for games only.”

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows, “You’d turn down an offer of money for the integrity of your game?”

 

He stands back, shocked but pleased. He turns back to Trixie.

 

“Perhaps we can come back later and try again? After we’ve seen all that is here. I paid for these bracelets,” he says, holding up his wrist to reveal a fabric strip on his arm that reads “State Fair.”

 

“Might as well see what this place has to offer,” he says.

 

Trixie nods, still frowning.

 

Lucifer watches her. He doesn’t know what to do with that look, and furthermore, he doesn’t like it. How does he make that stop?

 

“Uh, how about these cake things you wanted?”

 

“Funnel cake?” Trixie says, the tone in her voice and her demeanor completely changing.

 

“Yes, that. How about I get you one of those?”

 

Trixie nods quickly with a smile.

 

He turns and glances around. Just past the stalls of games and attendants are stalls of food vendors. He can make out, just past that, the rides with the giant Ferris wheel at the heart of the fair. He turns his eyes back to the food stalls and sees the half-covered sign of a booth that says, “Funnel cakes.”

 

“Alright,” he says, “come along then.”

 

He starts to walk in that direction, through the crowd of people. Trixie keeps up behind him but gets bumped and pushed out of the way by people who aren't paying attention. She starts to lose him in the crowd. She slips between two people and catches him before reaching out and grabbing onto his hand. He pauses and turns to her as she pulls herself close to him, patrons bumping and moving past her.

 

He sighs in disinterest, then turns and continues walking. _At least her hands weren’t sticky._

 

Moments later, Lucifer and Trixie are walking to a nearby table. They each have a plate filled with powdered sugar and fried dough in their hands. Lucifer holds it easily, while Trixie seems to have trouble holding it all. They sit down at the table and begin to dig in.

 

“Mmm!” Trixie says happily, powered sugar sticking to her lips.

 

Lucifer smiles and takes his first bite. He pauses as it hits his tongue and raises his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised.

 

“Well done. Excellent Choice,” he says, proud of her decision.

 

He takes another bite, his shoulders slacking as he seemingly enjoys this way too much. They sit and eat quietly, each one enjoying their funnel cake to different degrees.

He moans into the funnel cake as he eats, to the chagrin of passerby’s. All they see is a grown man having a sexual experience with a funnel cake while a child eats to her heart's content next to him. She kicks her feet as she eats happily, powdered sugar on her hands and face.

 

\--

 

Later, inside Dan’s hospital room, Chloe sits playing on her phone. The game beeps and chimes with each new tap, but despite the sounds and noises, her eyes are drooping as she struggles to stay awake.

 

Behind her, Dan is sleeping.

 

She presses her screen, popping another bubble sending another chime her way before her head droops, and she momentarily falls asleep. Suddenly, her head _rockets_ back up, and her eyes are wide. She turns to see Dan still sleeping and sighs. She tucks her phone into her pocket and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

 

She needed coffee.

 

She stands up just as Dan begins to stir. She pauses and moves to his bedside.

 

“Hey,” she says softly as his eyes pry open, and he turns to her.

 

“Hey,” he says in response, his voice still raw but hopeful.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

 

He smiles, and she closes her eyes, kicking herself for - yet again - using that term.

 

“Sorry, force of habit,” she says.

 

“It’s fine, honestly,” he says, “and I feel … I don’t know, I feel okay. The meds are definitely doing their job.”

 

She smiles, “Thank God for modern medicine, huh?”

 

His smile fades, and his eyes drop.

 

_God._

 

What did God have to do with anything?

 

“I was just about to step out and get some coffee, but I can wait,” she says.

 

“What time is it?” he asks

 

“Why? You got somewhere to go?”

 

He laughs, and for the first time, it doesn’t hurt his neck. His neck is still stiff, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.

 

“Go,” he says, “I’ll be here.”

 

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” she says.

 

“I’ll be awake,” he says.

 

Her smile turns into a frown.

 

“I promise,” he says, “Go.”

 

She reluctantly nods, “Okay, I’ll only be a few minutes … alright?”

 

He smiles and watches as she turns and exits the room, closing the door shut behind her. He lays there for a moment, basking in the comfort and silence before it dawns on him.

 

He was alone.

 

This is the first time he’s been truly alone since he got here. The door wasn’t ajar, there wasn’t someone sitting right outside or nurses here washing him or changing his dressings.

 

He is alone.

 

The beeping on the machine starts to intensify as his heartbeat rises.

 

What if it happened now? He wonders. He would have nowhere to run. He’d be a sitting - or in this case laying - duck.

 

_What if it weren’t actually over?_

 

He lays there, his eyes wide with fear as he waits, each passing second more tense than the last.

 

He stares at the clock on the wall as the second-hand ticks by. Then his eyes turn to the window just outside where nurses go about their day answering phones. Next, he turns his eyes to the TV, then to the air conditioner on the side of the room. His eyes bounce back and forth between every electrical and mechanical thing in this room, waiting for something – anything – to falter. For the silence, for his hell.

 

He waits until there is a ringing in his ears as his heartbeat intensifies. The longer he waits, the more tense he becomes until finally, it dawns on him. There was no silence. He turns his eyes outside to the nurse station as phones continue to ring, and the low murmurs of nurses talking to each other can be heard. He turns his eyes to the air conditioner that blows a continuous and cool air into the room.

 

There was no silence. The machine beeping starts to slow as his heart rate lowers.

 

There is no silence.

 

A smile comes to his face, and he starts to laugh. It’s a carefree and freeing laugh.

 

It was over. It was _finally_ over.

 

\--

Inside the cafeteria, Chloe stands at a drink counter stirring her coffee. She puts the stirrer in her mouth and nods before tossing the stirrer into the trash and covering the paper cup. Her pocket vibrates, and she pauses to pull out her phone. It’s a message from Lucifer.

 

She opens the message to see an attachment of Trixie with a sizable smile on her face. She has face paint on, but Chloe can’t tell what she is. Either an Alien or Princess. Perhaps both.

 

She smiles and dials Lucifer’s phone before taking her cup and leaving the cafeteria.

 

\--

 

At the fair, Lucifer reluctantly sits in a chair as a woman paints his face like the devil.

 

“I do hope you have enough red paint,” he says to the woman. She smiles and continues painting.

 

His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out. He sees it’s Chloe and answers before handing the phone to Trixie.

 

“It’s your mother,” he says.

 

Trixie takes it and puts the phone up to her ear.

 

“Hi, mommy!” she says.

 

In the hospital, Chloe walks down a hallway, the coffee cup in her hand and a smile on her face.

 

“Hey, monkey, I saw that you got your face painted.”

 

“I’m a Space Alien Princess,” she says.

 

Chloe laughs, “I thought so. Are you and Lucifer having fun?”

 

“Uh-huh,” she says, turning to Lucifer as he sits motionless while getting horns painted onto his forehead.

 

“That’s great. Can I speak to Lucifer?” she asks.

 

At the fair, Trixie hands the phone to Lucifer.

 

“Mommy wants to talk to you,” she says.

 

Lucifer grabs the phone and holds it away from the fresh paint on his face.

 

“Detective,” he says, “I assume you got the proof of me holding my end of the bargain.”

 

“Is that what that was? Proof?”

 

“Of course,” he says, “wouldn’t want you thinking I just took the child and locked her up all evening.”

 

Chloe laughs, “Uh-huh. Well, I’m glad you two are having fun,” she says, “I’m going to spend some more time with Dan and head back home for the night. I have a bunch of stuff to do to get Trixie ready for school tomorrow and … I want some time to explain what is happening to Dan.”

 

“Okay,” Lucifer says, wondering what that has to do with him.

 

“Do you think you can drop Trixie off at around seven?”

 

Lucifer brings up his watch, it’s 4:15. He thinks about it for a moment, turns to all the game stalls and rides he hasn’t gone on yet, then turns back to Trixie, who watches the woman painting his face with a strange childlike curiosity.

 

“I uhm … I’d love to Detective, but you see I’ve already promised the child we’d ride more rides and play more games.”

 

In the hospital, Chloe approaches Dan’s room and sees him awake, a smile on his face in bed. She smiles and turns to a nearby chair and sits in it.

 

“If I were a betting woman, I’d say it sounded like you were having a good time,” she says.

 

“Yes, well, it turns out you are a betting woman Detective.”

 

She laughs.

 

“Fine, just get her home as early as you can, okay? I’d like to talk to her about Dan before school tomorrow.”

 

“Alright,” he says.

 

“Okay, I gotta go, I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”

 

“Of course, Detective. As if I’d want to keep your offspring longer than necessary. I’ve already had to hold her hand.”

 

Chloe laughs.

 

“Goodbye, Lucifer,” she says before clicking the phone off. She smiles to herself and slips the phone in her pocket before standing and approaching Dan’s door. She turns the knob and opens it. He turns to watch her enter.

 

“That was fast,” he says.

 

She smiles and shuts the door behind her, “I told you I wouldn’t take long.”

 

She sips the coffee before moving back to her seat.

 

“Who were you talking to?” he asks.

 

 “Lucifer. He and Trixie are at the fair,” she says, taking a sip of her coffee.

 

“Mm,” she hums, with the coffee in her mouth as she remembers the image on her phone.

 

Dan furrow his eyebrows, a horror slowly developing behind his eyes. Chloe doesn’t notice it, however, as she reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone.

 

“Trixie got her face painted,” she says, scrolling to the picture she was just sent. She holds it up for Dan and notices the look on his face.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

 

Dan’s eyes move down to see a smiling Trixie. He turns his eyes back to Chloe.

 

“You let _Lucifer_ take Trixie?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, why? “

 

“I don’t trust that guy,” Dan says.

 

Chloe chuckles to herself and puts the phone back into her pocket.

 

“I get that you two have a tough relationship, but that’s no reason to –“

 

“That guy is _dangerous_ , Chloe. You need to call him back and tell him to bring Trixie home.”

 

Chloe pauses. She eyes Dan for a moment.

 

“What are you talking about?’

 

“I … I don’t know why or how but I just know, okay? Call him, please.”

 

“Dan, I’m not doing that. They are having a good time, and Lucifer is taking good care of her.”

 

“Just … you don’t understand!” he says.

 

 “Dan, I think you’re being a little ridiculous here. He’s doing me a favor by taking Trixie today, so I can be with you. You know how he feels about kids.”

 

“And you let him take her anyway.”

 

Chloe looks at him and shakes her head.

 

“I …let’s not do this right now, okay?”

 

“Chloe,” he says, his voice stern and his eyes unmoving, “I’m serious. He’s dangerous, and I don’t trust him.”

 

“Well, I do, Dan. _I do_.”

 

They sit in silence for a moment as Dan looks at her.

 

“So, I wasn’t seeing things … you did kiss him.”

 

Chloe nods, “Lucifer and I are … we are trying,” she says.

 

“For a baby?” he says, the shock and terror in his voice.

 

“No!” she says, “Oh _God_ no. We are trying the whole relationship thing. You know, he’s never been in one and … well, we’re trying.”

 

Dan scoffs, “You don’t know anything about him, Chloe.”

 

Chloe furrows her eyebrows, “I know more than you think,” she says, “trust me, I’m not just …jumping into this blindly.”

 

Dan raises his eyes as if he has a sudden realization. He laughs in disgust.

 

“Is that what this whole Trixie thing is? You’re using our daughter as some sort of experiment?”

 

Chloe shakes her head and looks at him like he’s lost his fucking mind.

 

“You know what, I’m not having this fight with you. Not now, okay?”

 

“They can get you a new partner,” Dan says, “It will be an easy fix.”

 

“We’re _done_ with this conversation,” she says, an anger behind her eyes.

 

Dan scoffs and turns his head away from her.

 

“You know, it’s one thing to get involved with that guy, but its another thing to involve our _daughter_ ,” he says.

 

“What makes you think I haven’t thought about this?” Chloe says, her arms crossed, “All I’ve done is think about this. The one benefit of you being here is that I’m not thinking about him and me. About all the women he’s slept with, or all the shit that he’s done. I mean, If you really knew who he was, you’d have gone down the rabbit hole of thinking about every minuscule thing he’s ever said to you like I have. What did he mean when he said this? Or did that? “

 

Dan watches as she starts to spiral, a sudden regret to his words.

 

“Did he mean that? He tells you he doesn’t lie, but he’s not telling you everything. What isn’t he telling you? Why isn’t he telling you? Is he misleading you or is he protec-”

 

“Hey,” he says, interrupting her verbal diarrhea.

 

She stops and looks at him.

 

”Look, I’m sorry, okay. I… I shouldn’t have questioned it. You’re smart, I know you are, It’s just …it’s not _you_ I’m worried about.”

 

Chloe sighs and moves to sit down in a nearby chair. She shakes her head.

 

“What am I doing, Dan?” she says, covering her hand with her face.

 

He sighs and tilts his head against the pillow. There was something wrong about Lucifer, he knew it. He didn’t know what or why, but he knew it deep inside. He couldn’t prove it yet, though. And what if it was just … leftovers from his experience. No one would believe him if they told him he saw a figure with the galaxy for a face, why would they believe him if he said Lucifer was evil. He turns his eyes to Chloe and watches her as she seems deep in thought. She had seemingly questioned her and Lucifer for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t his role to make her feel bad about her decision.

 

He sighs and rolls his eyes.

 

“Does he actually have _feelings_ for you? Not like, just sex?” he asks.

 

She turns to Dan, her arms still crossed, and nods, “We haven’t had sex, yet,” she says.

 

Dan looks at her oddly.

 

“Huh,” he says as if surprised by that. He turns his eyes away, running that through his mind.

 

“Are you sure?” he asks.

 

“What do you mean, 'Am I sure?' I think I would know,” she says.

 

She pauses, briefly remembering the moment after her possession.

 

He seems to take that to heart and sighs. They sit in silence for a minute.

 

“I don’t like it. I don’t want him and Trixie hanging out, but … I get it. I guess, _in this instance_ , he’s okay.”

 

Chloe smiles, “How _gracious_ of you.”

 

“I just … I hope you know what you’re doing,” he says reluctantly.

 

She smiles, “No one ever knows what they are doing,” she says.

 

\--

 

Later, at the fair, the sun is just starting to set over the horizon as a painted and nearly tuckered out Lucifer and Trixie sit atop the Ferris wheel in a gently swaying bucket. Lucifer looks at the sky, the haze from the city lights blurring out his work. He turns to see Trixie looking over the bar that holds them in place, towards the ground full of people.

 

“You know I created the stars,” Lucifer says, looking at them longingly.

 

“No, you didn’t,” Trixie says with a smile on her face as she turns to him. He looks down at her, his face still painted like the devil.

 

“Young one, I do not lie.”

 

Trixie looks at him oddly, as if gauging him. He stares at her, a serious look to his eyes, but she can’t see past the Devil paint on his face.

 

“You look silly,” she says, bursting into laughter.

 

He smiles, “Yes, well… I assure you I don’t have horns. Though I suppose it is up to artistic interpretation.”

 

“Look at all those people down there,” Trixie says, turning her attention back to the crowd of people below her as the bucket continues to slowly move.

 

“I wish we could be up here forever,” she says, turning her eyes back to the scene of the city in front of her.

 

Lucifer turns to her and watches her oddly. It was a silly request, that he was sure of. What he wasn’t so sure of is why he felt so eager to fulfill it.

 

“Perhaps they will let us stay on when we reach the bottom,” he says.

 

The wheel continues to spin as they begin to descend this time. When they reach the platform, the attendant moves to unlock them from their bucket, but Lucifer reaches a hand to pause him.

 

“The child would like to have one more go,” he says,” no need to unlock us.”

 

“Sorry pal,” the man says, “We got a line of people waiting. If you want to go again, just join the back of the line.”

 

The man moves again, and Lucifer stops him, this time more forceful.

 

“The child desires to go again. Surely, there isn’t any harm in one more spin around the wheel?”

 

“Look, pal,” the guy begins.

 

“Surely, you must understand desire, hmm?” he says, “what do you desire?”

 

Lucifer stares into the man’s eyes and watches as he looks at Lucifer as if something was off with this guy. Lucifer pushes forward, staring intensely into the man’s eyes.

 

“Come on, you can tell me,” he says.

 

The man’s eyes slowly fall, a noticeable tension shifting from his eyes.

 

_It’s working._

 

“I …,” he says, his eyes continuing to stare into Lucifer’s.

 

A faint glow emerges inside of Lucifer’s eyes, but it doesn’t frighten the man. Instead, it seems to calm him even more.

 

“I …” he says again.

 

“Come on,” Lucifer says, beckoning it out of him.

 

There is an excitement and electricity between them. There’s as much interest in Lucifer’s eyes as there is in the eyes of the people in line who are wondering what is taking the attendant so long.

 

“I want to taste you,” the man says.

 

Lucifer pauses, then sits back, a sudden confusion in his eyes. That was not what he expected.

 

The disconnect from their eyes snaps the man back into reality, and it dawns on him what he just said.

 

“Oh, No, I … I didn’t mean that” he says.

 

“I’m flattered,” Lucifer says, “as much as I am confused. That should have elicited a much different response.”

 

“I’m not even like that,” the man says, “I … I got a girlfriend at home.”

 

Lucifer watches him for a moment. Perhaps the Detective was right, maybe he was getting his wires crossed.

 

“Right,” he says a scientific interest behind his eyes.

 

He shifts his body, the way he would shift it if he were tempting a woman, “That must make you feel all sort of confused,” he says.

 

“Yeah, tell me about it. I’m just trying to make an extra buck or two, man.”

 

“Oh?” Lucifer says, “So it’s money you require?”

 

Lucifer reaches into his pocket and pulls out his money clip.

 

“You humans and your money, I keep forgetting how much you desire it,” he says, sliding one of the 100 dollar bills out of the fold. He extends it to the man.

 

“Go on,” he says, “I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our dirty little secret.”

 

The man eyes the money, then looks at Lucifer. Lucifer watches him, a curiosity behind his eyes usually reserved for women he admired.

 

“Lucifer?” Trixie says.

 

Lucifer turns to her.

 

“What is going on?”

 

Lucifer turns to the man, who still stands there confused, shocked, and embarrassed.

 

“I believe this gentleman was about to allow us one more ride, young one.”

 

The man looks up at him and nods as he reaches out and grabs the money. Then he turns and presses a button that jolts the bucket forward, and they begin to rise.

Lucifer sits back pleased, albeit intrigued.

His charm just worked in a very odd way.

 

\--

 

Later, it’s night time, and the fair is starting to die down. Lucifer and Trixie walk, side by side, down an emptying pathway. They step over papers and spilled food as Trixie licks an ice cream cone while cradling a small pink bear between her arms.

 

Lucifer, who holds onto the larger prizes, also licks an ice cream cone. He seems pleased. His mojo wasn’t gone at all, just … changed. He thinks about that for a moment. Changed. It would have scared him, make him think about the prophecy, but there is joy there. He seems to bask in the idea of getting to relearn himself as if an eternity of knowing then suddenly not knowing was entertaining.

 

They stand in silence, each in their own space of contentment. Trixie’s eyes catch a spinning cup ride and turns to Lucifer.

 

“Can we go on the cup ride?!” she asks, the ice cream starting to melt down the side of her hands.

 

Lucifer turns to her, then looks at the cup.

 

He sighs, “Alright, but after this, we have to take you home. I believe your mother wants to talk to you.”

 

Trixie frowns, “It’s not about babies, is it?”

 

Lucifer furrows his eyes, “Pardon?”

 

“Ms. Linda told me how babies were made,” Trixie says, going back to licking her ice cream.

 

“Oh,” Lucifer says, this conversation suddenly very awkward.

 

“No, I don’t believe it is about that.”

 

“Good, because I don’t think I want to know anymore.”

 

Lucifer laughs and drops his cone into a nearby trashcan as they pass a trashcan. They continue walking as Trixie continues to lick the ice cream. Lucifer watches her, a genuine intrigue behind his eyes.

 

 “Fine,” he says, “but this will be the last one, then you can go home and tell your mother about what a wonderful time you had with me. Yes?”

 

Trixie nods and smiles.

 

Just then, his phone rings again. He reaches into his pocket and pulls it out to see its Chloe. He answers with a smile.

 

“Detective!” he says, “I suppose your ears were burning?”

 

“Lucifer,” Chloe says on the other line, “Are you guys still at the fair? It’s getting late, and Trixie has school tomorrow.”

 

“Yes,” Lucifer says, “I know, but I did promise her to go on this teacup ride, and you know how I feel about promises.”

 

Chloe sighs.

 

“Fine, but no more promises, alright? It’s already past her bedtime.”

 

Lucifer sighs, “Very well. I’ll have her home shortly.”

 

Trixie watches him as he speaks, holding onto the ice cream cone in her hand that starts to melt quickly. Lucifer clicks off the phone and turns to her.

 

“Speak to the devil I’m afraid,” he says, the irony of that not being lost on him, “one more ride, and I have to get you home.”

 

Trixie sighs and nods.

 

“Are you done with that?” he asks, pointing at her ice cream.

 

She looks at it, gives it one huge bite where most of the ice cream on the top is gone, then hands him the sticky cone. He reluctantly accepts it.

 

“Yes, well done,” he says as he tosses the cone into the trash.

 

“Come on!” she says, grabbing his hand and dragging him towards the teacups.

 

They hand their prizes to the attendant to keep watch and hop behind the gates of the ride to climb into a teacup. Lucifer shuts the door of the teacup behind them.

 

“No seatbelts?” he asks.

 

Trixie laughs.

 

Lucifer holds on to the seat as the gate to the platform shuts, and the teacups whirr to life. They start out slowly but continue to get faster as time passes. Trixie giggles as she holds on for dear life. Lucifer watches her, a smile on his face as the cup spins faster and faster. Time seems to slow as he watches her, the complete joy and childlike innocence in her face. The smile on his face deepens.

 

He does like this spawn, he gathers. The other ones are absolutely horrid, but this one … this one he imagines might turn out to be a lovely human.

 

The thought briefly crosses his mind that he could have a child of his own. He would instill it with so much love and protection. It would know where the stars came from, and he could teach it how to fly, or drive …whichever came first.

 

He pauses as he realizes he doesn’t know what that feels like. His own father had been absent for most of his milestones, at least the ones before his fall. A pit in his stomach starts to churn, as a sudden emptiness makes itself known. He shakes that thought out of his head, angry he had allowed himself to think like that.

 

No, children were messy and loud and downright dreadful. That anyone would want to procreate as opposed to just enjoying the physicality of sex was baffling to him. He turns back to Trixie, as she continues to giggle through the spinning.

 

He really did like this child, though. _Perhaps that was enough?_

 

Suddenly Trixie’s smile falls, and her eyes focus on one spot of the teacup. The effect of time slowing seems to be reversed, as now it feels like time is going too fast. As if every second that passing is faster than the last.

 

Her face starts to turn an odd shade of green, and Lucifer watches in horror as she vomits inside the teacup, splattering a day’s worth of fair foods – or at least some of it – all over him.

 

The teacup continues to spin as he sits in shock of what just happened, and Trixie reaches up to wipe her mouth with the thin sweater she is wearing.

 

“Sorry,” she yells over the whirring of the machines and laughter from other cups.

 

Slowly, the cup stops spinning and comes to a halt. Lucifer sits there, absolutely mortified, and Trixie looks on at him, afraid of what he might do next.

 

Suddenly, Lucifer burst into laughter, tears coming out of his eyes.

 

This, _this_ is why children are the worst.

 

Trixie smiles, “Sorry,” she says again.

 

\--

 

Inside Chloe’s living room, she lays across her sofa with a glass of wine in her hand, and the Blood Moon Saga draped across her chest. She stares out into the distance while nursing her glass. She wanted to come home and spend the night with Trixie, but Lucifer had extended their outing.

 

As much as she hated that it messed up her plans to break the news about Dan, it gave her an excuse for one more day of Trixie not knowing. It also gave her much needed time to be by herself, to destress from the events of the past few days.

 

She had come home and taken a hot shower before putting on a comfortable pair of pajama pants and a tank top. She even tossed a light sweater over it to keep warm, but it did nothing. She was still so tense.

 

Her eyes drift down to the half-empty glass of wine in her hand.

 

She still felt the weight of the world on her.

 

Dan was not yet out of the woods, despite Lucifer’s promises he would be, it wasn’t enough.

 

And speaking of Lucifer, could she spend the rest of her life like this? Knowing so much and harboring such a large secret? She didn’t care that he was the Devil. He was so much more than that to her, but …eventually they would all find out; Trixie would find out. Dan was close to finding out. The thought alone makes what little relaxation she had in her body disappear, and her muscles go tense again.

 

_They would all find out._

 

She sighs and takes a sip of wine.

 

Suddenly, there is a soft knock at the door. She turns to it then sets the glass of wine on the table. She stands and approaches the door before grabbing the knob, twisting and pulling the door open.

 

When the door swings open, she is met with a softly smiling Lucifer, sans jacket. Draped over his shoulder is a sleeping Trixie, and by his feet are various bags of prizes.

 

“My apologies for keeping her out late, Detective, but I may have gotten carried away on the festivities.”

 

She stands there, her eyes wide in shock.

 

“Y-Yeah,” she says, blinking, trying to clear her eyes and make sure she was seeing what she was seeing.

 

Lucifer slowly leans down and grabs the bags at his feet. They seem heavy, but he doesn’t seem to be unable to manage them or the eight-year-old hanging from his body like a rag doll. The light sweater she was wearing is folded on top of the prize bag as her arms are crossed across her body, soaking in the warmth radiating off of Lucifer.

 

“It seems I underestimated the amount of energy small humans have,” he says.

 

He walks in, and Chloe reaches out to grab the bags from his hand. He willingly lets her, and she uses both her hands to grab them all. She sets them on the kitchen counter before moving to close the door.

 

“Though I suppose it’s my fault, once I figured out my charm was inverted, I had to test it out. Hence the prizes. Plus, did you know some of those games are rigged? You know how I feel about liars,” he says.

 

Chloe smiles and crosses her arms, “No one ever wins at fairs, I wouldn’t take it personal.”

 

She takes a look at the prizes in the bag then turns back to Lucifer, “Well, most people.”

 

He turns and heads towards Trixie’s bedroom. Chloe silently follows him, still in shock that he seems to be … _comfortable_.

 

Lucifer enters Trixie’s bedroom, approaches her bed, and leans down to pull back the covers. Once they are pulled back, he gently lays her into the bed. As soon as her head hits the pillow, she turns into it, adjusting herself to get comfortable; her eyes still closed and seemingly still dead asleep.

 

“And it was so loud, Detective,” Lucifer says, his hands moving down to Trixie’s ankle. With one hand, he gently holds her feet, and with the other, he pulls her shoes off. He sets them on the ground nearby.

 

“And there were so many people with their spawns running around. Lights, screaming. It was absolutely horrid.”

 

Chloe smiles and leans on the door frame, “Uh-huh.”

 

“I might have them make a section in hell just for watching children. I mean, I would say I’ve never seen so many sticky surfaces in my life, but that would be a lie, and you know how I feel about lies.”

 

She chuckles to herself and rolls her eyes while crossing her arms.

 

There it is, she thinks, he couldn’t have just one sweet moment.

 

Lucifer grabs the covers and drapes it over Trixie. Trixie turns her head further into the pillow, responding to the warmth of the sheets, fast asleep. Lucifer stands and watches Trixie for a moment as if verifying she was still asleep and comfortable. Chloe’s smile fades as she stares at him.

 

He was tall and powerful, and possibly the _last_ person a mother would want standing over their sleeping child. His cuffs were rolled up, and he looked dress down without his jacket. His shirt was wrinkly, and so were his pants. His hair, usually perfectly coifed and smoothed, showed signs of a long day. His face was also covered in cracked and faded devil face paint. Despite all this, she thinks, for all the world could say about the devil, they had missed one crucial thing; he was _absolutely_ lovely.

 

She bites her lip, her eyes drifting down his body.

 

Lucifer turns to see Chloe watching him.

 

He stands there awkwardly, then turns back to Trixie as he realizes what he just did.

 

“Well,” he says, putting his hands into his pants as he heads for the door and walks past her, “It seems my end of our wager is completed, Detective.”

 

“If I didn’t know any better, Mr. Morningstar, I would say you thoroughly enjoyed your day,” she says as she follows him out the room, and she slides the door to Trixie’s bedroom closed.

 

He sighs and reluctantly nods, “It was … more pleasant than I expected. If only as a means to an end.”

 

She smiles and crosses into the living room to get her glass of wine. He goes around the sofa on the other side and sits casually on the couch, his arm draped along the back of the sofa.

 

“You know what I think?” she says, in a tone that intrigues him as she sits on the seat beside him, tucking her body into his open arm.

 

 “Hmm?” he asks, turning his head to her.

 

“I think you would make an excellent father someday.”

 

Lucifer furrows his brow and scrunches his face in disgust.

 

“Detective, please. You keep bringing up Fatherhood, and I might have to reevaluate my desire to have sex with you.”

 

She chuckles and takes a sip of her wine before pausing. She sniffs the air then turns to him. She leans in and smells him before turning her nose up and moving away from him.

 

“You smell horrible,” she says.

 

“Detective, it’s been a long day. Between walking around in the hot sun, carrying all those damned prizes, and being spit upon like some sort of half-digested food sponge … if you don’t come out smelling as I do, I’d be surprised.”

 

“Trixie got sick on you?” she asks, concern in her eyes.

 

“Yes, well, it is partly my fault. I _did_ feed her hot dogs then put her on a spinning ride.”

 

Chloe bursts out into a raucous laughter before silencing herself with a chuckle. She leans back and grabs her stomach as she continues to silently laugh.

 

Lucifer nods, annoyed.

 

“Yes, very funny. I’m going to have to launder a very expensive jacket because of this. Not that money is an issue, it’s more of an annoyance than anything.”

 

Chloe’s laughter dies down, and a smile stays planted on her face. She looks at Lucifer lovingly before leaning in and kissing him on the lips. He holds onto it, needing it to drown out the emptiness in him. She pulls away, he moves with her, an attempt to keep their lips locked, but he fails.

 

“Thank you,” she says, pulling away from him, “for taking her today.”

 

“Of course,” he says, “a wager is a wager.”

 

“No, I don’t mean because of our bet,” she says.

 

He nods.

 

She pulls her hand up to her nose, “ _God_ , that’s really strong.”

 

“Language,” he says, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Sorry, but wow.”

 

Lucifer sits up and stars to unbutton his shirt, “Fine,” he says, “it’s an easy fix.”

 

He unbuttons his shirt while Chloe shakes her head with a smile on her face. When his shirt is unbuttoned, he slips it off and tosses it towards the door.

 

“Better?” he asks.

 

Her smile fades as her eyes land on his chest, then rolls down his torso to his tight fit pants. She wishes Trixie threw up on those too.

 

“Yes,” she says, cautiously sliding into his arms again.

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Her eyes drop down to her glass, and she lowers it to her lap.

 

“I uhm,” she begins,” I know that you don’t want to talk about it, and you don’t have to but … I know what you did.”

 

He looks at her, confused.

 

“If you want to blackmail me, detective, you have to tell me what I did first.”

 

She chuckles.

 

“Dan wouldn’t have …,” she pauses. The knot in her shoulder returns just thinking about it. She reaches up and rubs it.

 

“Dan wouldn’t have made it if you didn’t do what you did,” she says.

 

His offense falls into a frown. He didn’t want to think about that.

 

She shakes her head, “I can’t imagine...”

 

She turns to him, and he looks at her as if waiting for her to say something, anything to make him feel better.

 

“I know it was difficult for you,” she says, “and whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

 

He nods. She lets go a timid smile before turning and tucking herself back into his arms and sipping her wine.

 

“Daniel will certainly owe me a favor or two. He can start by not being such a douche,” he says in feigned anger.

 

She chuckles and sits up.

 

“Oh, stop it,” she says with a smile.

 

“Yes,” he says, “I believe you’re right. That’s quite impossible for him.”

 

She chuckles and brings the glass up to her lips.

 

“He hasn’t even fully recovered, and you're already being mean to him.”

 

“Well, I’m the devil, darling. I’m _supposed_ to be mean,” he says with a cheeky wink.

 

Her smile fades, and she takes another sip of her wine as her right-hand falls onto his thigh.

 

 “I think you’re much softer than you like to think,” she says, her eyes turning to his.

 

He looks at her, then at the hand on his thigh.

 

“Unfortunately, yes,” he says, wondering if this Is going where he thinks it is going.

 

Her eyes cascade down to her hand, then turns to the glass of wine. She takes a timid sip before pausing and downing the remainder of the glass in one gulp. He looks at her oddly as she leans forward and sets the glass on the coffee table before sitting back and rubbing her neck.

 

 “I …it’s been a long day,” she says, sighing, leaning into his arms again, “I didn’t want to get away from the hospital, but … I’m glad I did.”

 

She sets her hand on his thigh again, and his eyes go back to it. Her hand was so close to his crotch. She’s saying something, but his mind can’t focus.

 

 “I just … I needed a quiet night, you know?” Chloe says, turning her eyes to him,” Just a night to destress.”

 

“Well, I’m excellent with my hands, Detective, perhaps I could be of some assistance.”

 

She blushes, “I bet.”

 

He sits up, forcing her to sit up with him and beckons her to turn around.

 

“I’ll give you a little massage,” he says.

 

“Oh, right,” she says, trying to cover what she was actually thinking he was talking about. She turns her back to him and moves her hand away from his thigh.

 

He shifts his body on the couch, his left leg folded on the seat. He peels the sweater off her shoulders, revealing the thin spaghetti straps of her tank top. Then, he brings his hands up and begins to massage her shoulders.

 

“Oh,” she says with a moan as her body starts to relax a little, “Oh, that’s good.”

 

“See?” he says, leaning into her a bit, “these hands have had much practice.”

 

“Mmhmm,” she hums, her neck dropping forward as he continues to massage her shoulders.

 

They sit in silence as he continues to massage her shoulders, her eyes closed, and her head dropped.

 

“My, you are tense Detective,” he says, trying to work the knot out in her shoulders to no avail.

 

“Well, it’s been a very … _trying_ few weeks, Lucifer,” she says, her eyes opening again as her mind thinks about all that has happened. Learning he was the devil was the biggest one, that one was difficult. Everything else was smaller by comparison, but it seemed to be a never-ending barrage of new things.

 

_Would it always be like this from now on?_

 

“Mm,” he acknowledges, getting nowhere with her shoulders.

 

“Come,” he says as he stretches out his left leg and slides it between the couch and her left side. She turns to his leg as it slides next to her.

 

“Lucifer your shoes!” she says as she reaches forward and slides his shoe off his left foot and tosses it to the ground.

 

“Oh, I’ll _buy_ you a new Couch Detective,” he says, annoyed, trying to pull her back to her position.

 

“That’s not the point,” she says as he pulls her closer to him. She sits straight up, her body tucked between his legs.

 

He continues to work out the knots in her shoulders by applying more steady pressure. The spaghetti strap on her right shoulder falls, revealing a purely naked shoulder. She lets out a deep sigh as her muscles finally relax.

 

“There it is,” he says, feeling her give in.

 

“That feels good,” she says again, this time her voice low and calm.

 

“I guess I hadn’t realized how tight I was,” she continues.

 

He lets out a chuckle full of insinuation. She turns around and playfully slaps him. They lock eyes, and his smile fades. They stare at one another before he leans in and kisses her. It starts out sweetly but quickly moves into hunger. She twists her torso slightly and reaches up to set a hand on his face, keeping him there. His hands trail down her body and instantly locks between her thighs.

 

They continue kissing before her hand slides down to his hand that is currently sitting between her thighs and holds onto it, not moving it away. They continue kissing, a passionate heat rising between them as her panting increases. Her heart beats fast. His hand slowly moves up her thighs, closer and closer to her pant clad pussy.

 

She doesn’t stop him. Instead, she removes her hand and sets it aside while simultaneously opening her legs for him. It’s a small movement, but it makes a world of difference to him. He doesn’t have to pretend or feel her out to see how far he could go.

 

“Would you like to be more relaxed?” he says, his lips finding his way down to her neck as she turns and watches his hand as he starts to rub her through her pants.

 

“I’d love to work out all your _kinks_ ,” he says, way more meaning behind his words than she can process right now.

 

“Mmm,” she says softly, her hips moving into his hands.

 

He smiles to himself. He will take that as a yes.

 

He turns his head down, so they are both watching as he pulls his hand away before gently sliding it into the fabric of her pajama pants. Here, he returns to rubbing her over the fabric of her underwear.

 

They both watch as his hand rises and falls, his knuckled hitting the fabric of her crotch as he rubs her pussy slowly with pressure. She spreads her legs slightly and leans back into him, sliding her body down just enough that she can place her feet flat on the end of the sofa.

 

“Mmm,” she hums again, this time followed by soft panting as she begins to breathe heavily. Every nerve in her gut starts to tingle as blood flows south, and she can feel the fabric of her underwear getting damp.

 

He can feel it too and smiles ear to ear. He turns his eyes back to her as she watches, stuck in a trance, his hand oscillating inside of her pajama pants like the waves of the ocean. She feels him watching her and turns her eyes to him.

 

They intently stare at one another, the smile on his face falling as he can see the ball of Lust developing behind her eyes. This was past thinking about it. This was the cusp of it actually happening. In her eyes, he could see every moment of every second of the night ahead of him, and he couldn’t look away.

 

A light moan escapes her lips, and she closes her eyes before opening them again, that look hovering over both of them and intensifying. He turns his eyes back to his hand as he pulls it away from her gently before sneaking beneath the fabric of her underwear. There, they find the soft and wet lips between her legs.

 

He turns back to her as if wanting to see her reaction.

 

She just stares at him as he slides his hand over her pussy, his middle fingers sliding in between her lips and finding her clit.

 

She closes her eyes and lets out a soft moan. She doesn’t catch it immediately, but the more she looks into his eyes, the more it hits her. Panicked, she sits up slightly and turns her eyes towards Trixie’s closed bedroom door. She watches for a moment before relaxing and turning back to Lucifer.

 

“Maybe we should take this upstairs?” she asks him.

 

“or maybe you should lower your volume,” he says, smiling, before passionately kissing her again.

 

He continues to slide back and forth across her increasingly wet lips, his fingers rigid, yet soft.

 

Her breathing tenses and the muscles he just relaxed tense as well.

 

She moans into his mouth, and it only encourages him. He begins to rotate his fingers, rubbing her in a circular motion. She leans back into his body, straightening out her torso slightly and giving him better access to her pussy. He separates his lips from hers and starts to kiss her neck, his eyes drifting down to his hands as he watches the rise and fall of cotton, his hands running circles around her most sensitive parts.

 

“Fuck,” she says beneath her breath.

 

He chuckles.

 

“Not yet, Detective,” he says, “but I enjoy that you imagine it.”

 

He continues to rub her, her breathing rising, and her legs slowly opening. She wants him so badly to slide his fingers inside of her, any part of him inside of her. Her eyes widen, and she sits up. She grabs his hand and slips it out of her pants before sitting up quickly and standing. His smile falls, and he looks at her, wondering why she had cut his enjoyment off so soon.

 

She grabs his hand and pulls him up toward the stairs. He pushes himself off the couch and fumbles as he realizes he has one shoe on.

 

“Hold on,” he says as Chloe continues to drag him towards the steps.

 

He reaches down, tripping over his feet as he attempts to pull the other shoe off.

 

“Detective, slow down!” he says, annoyed.

 

She doesn’t listen, her mind is in another place as she continues to hold his hand and pull him up the stairs. He manages to pull the other shoe off his foot before tossing it aside. She pulls him into her bedroom before turning to close the door behind her. Then she turns to him and quickly closes the distance, her lips locking onto his. He allows his tongue to explore the inside of her mouth.

 

Lucifer pushes her backward, pinning her against the wall before turning his attention to her neck. Her breathing is laden with lust, and she reaches down to grab his belt. She starts to unbuckle it.

 

Before she can finish, he presses himself into her, forcing her to move her hands. She reaches around and grabs onto the flesh of his lower torso. She lifts one of her legs up and wraps it around his body, he, in turn, removes his hands from her face and lifts her off the ground, still pressing her against the wall. She wraps her legs around his torso as his hands held tightly to her ass.

 

They eagerly devour each other, their kisses becoming more passionate and heated as seconds pass.

 

Lucifer moves from her lips and begins to lick the side of her neck.

 

“We have to be quiet,” she says breathily, trying to establish rules before she loses control, “we can’t wake her.”

 

Lucifer goes back to kissing her, silencing her speech with his tongue. Lucifer pulls her away from the wall, still holding firmly onto her, and turns toward the bed as she continues to eagerly kiss him.

 

Slowly, he sets his knees on her bed and leans forward, placing her gently on the made comforters of her bed. Her legs slack beneath his body as he lays between them, gently grinding his hips into her. She reciprocates as the heat between them grows hotter.

 

“I’m so glad I took a shower before you came over,” she says, laughing as he kisses her neck. He smiles and catches her eyes momentarily.

 

“You’re going to need another one when I’m done with you, Detective,” he says, his words dripping with longing.

 

She moves to lock lips with him again, but he pushes himself away. He pushes himself off her bed, standing at the foot of it. She leans up on her elbows and watches as he undoes the clasp of his belt fully and slides it quickly out of the loops before tossing that aside. He unbuttons his pants and slides them off his legs before kicking them to the side. He stands there, wearing only dark blue boxer briefs. Chloe bites her lip.

 

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to taste you,” Lucifer says, kneeling back on her bed as he reaches forward and sticks the tips of his fingers beneath her waistband.

 

She lifts her waist off the bed, allowing him to pull her underwear and pants smoothly down her legs in one go.

 

He tosses the clothing to the side then leans down, his stomach laying flat against the bed, his legs hanging off the sides.

 

“Wait!” she says, sitting up and pushing him away. He pauses and looks up at her.

 

“You uhm … your face,” she says, circling her finger around her face, “It still has paint on it.”

 

“Oh,” he says, sitting back. He turns his head to her bathroom and stands.

 

“One moment,” he says as he rushes into the bathroom and grabs a washcloth.

 

In her bedroom, she smiles and sits there for a moment before reaching across her body and tossing her top off to the side.

 

_Was this actually going to happen?_

 

The tingle between her legs says it is. She turns and watches him as he cleans the face paint off his face. She smiles.

 

_He earned it._

 

He leans forward on the sink to look at his face, then tosses the washcloth into the basin before running back into the bedroom.

 

“Better?” he asks, his arms to the side indicating she should look at him. Shee looks at his face, then her eyes trail down his torso to his boxers.

 

“Better,” she says.

 

“Good.”

 

He kneels on the bed and presses his hand on her chest, slowly pushing her back on to the bed. Then he retakes his position between her legs.

 

She parts her legs for him, and he hums in approval.

 

_She’s already so wet._

 

He looks up to her, her eyes staring down at him, waiting and filled with desire. He maintains eye contact with her as his lips move further and further towards her body. He sticks his tongue out and licks one tantalizingly slow lap up her pussy. It was a performance to him, and she was the audience.

 

He licks her a few times before his tongue dives deeper and finds her clit.

 

Her jaw slacks in awe as he licks around it. Teasing her with excruciating pleasure. When his mouth finally closes around her clit, she gasps. She reaches out a hand and slides her fingers lovingly through his hair, before grabbing a handful of it. He looks up at her, and she looks down at him. They watch each other as he continues to gently suck on her clit. Every now and again, he licks at her, his tongue venturing deeper and deeper into her each time.

 

It was clear he had many skills, and he revels in his ability to show her this particular one.

 

He lets her leg go with his right hand and reaches down to his cock. He finds it still flaccid and starts to rub it, trying to wake it up. A slight voice in the back of his head starts to voice concern. It tells him that he should be hard by now, especially since it was her.

 

She tilts her head back and moans.

 

“Lucifer,” she whispers.

 

He puts his hand back on her leg, needing it to steady himself onto her as her hips begin to move more. Her hand pulls his head closer, deeper into her, as she begins to grind on his face.

 

He smiles and reaches up to remove her hand, pulling himself away from her before climbing back between her legs. Their lips meet again, and she kisses him passionately, tasting herself on his lips.

 

She reaches a hand down between them and grabs his cock through his pants. He pulls away from her.

 

“Detective, truly,” he says, taking her hands and holding them gently down to her side.

 

“You are making my job harder,” he says.

 

She smiles and rotates her hips, grinding her body against his.

 

“Just your job?” she asks.

 

They kiss momentarily before he pulls himself away from her and sits back onto his knees. In one swift motion, he grabs her hips and yanks her body forward until her ass is close against his body.

 

He takes her right leg and throws it over his left shoulder before making a point to slowly stick the fingers on his right hand into his mouth. She didn’t need it, he thinks, she was already so wet, but part of the experience was the show. He wanted her to want him more; her desire was beautiful.

 

He slowly takes his fingers out of his mouth.

 

Then, he reaches out and rubs her pussy with his hand before testing how she might accept a finger. It slides into her easily, eliciting a pleased hum from her lips. He quickly slides in a second. She tilts her head back as a stifled moan escape her lips.

 

She turns her head to the side, her eyes closed as if concentrating on the pleasure she was receiving. He grabs her legs and lowers it, slipping it between his arm and hips before leaning in and kissing her neck. She turns to him, and they kiss sweetly. She moans into his lips as his fingers continue sinking in and out of her. She backs away from the kiss and opens her eyes, her jaw slack. She finds him staring at her, watching her, taking in the sight of every moan and movement she made.

 

She’s never seen him so determined to do anything that wasn’t directly related to him.

 

If he wanted, he could fuck her right then and get what he had been after since they first met. Instead, he was pulling her away and staring intensely into her eyes as he played her body like an instrument. She might as well be an instrument of his because the music her body was making was hard to ignore, even harder to stifle for fear of being too loud.

 

Her breathing becomes louder, and she reaches a hand out to the arm he has planted on the bed to steady himself, seeking something to steady herself on.

 

“Yes,” she whispers beneath her breath. her moans fill his ears quite clearly.

 

He kisses her neck and slowly moves down to her collarbone before his tongue traces a patch to her chest, and finally, his mouth wraps around one of her nipples. He licks and sucks it tenderly as Chloe’s breathing becomes louder, and her moans start to release themselves more freely.

 

He continues to slide his fingers into her, up until his fingers are as deep as they can go. She reaches her left hand down and begins to rub her clit. She closes her eyes, wanting to badly to crest that hill. He sits back and crosses her body, gently moving her hand away before moves down to lay between her legs again. Once his head is between her legs, he raises her right leg onto his shoulder and pulls her closer.

 

Then she feels Lucifer’s tongue on her clit, tracing delightful circles as he curves his fingers inside of her. She had touched herself in this way several times. In fact, It was one of the ways she made herself cum. But this … _this_ was a different kind of touch.

 

It was the kind of touch that lit a fire inside every inch of her body. It was the kind of touch that made every moment of every sexual encounter or masturbatory fantasy up until this point feel like a complete and utter scam. She had been lied to, and Lucifer was the truth.

 

Again, his lips wrap around her clit, and the hair on her scalp stands on end as her head falls back, and a deep moan escapes her lips. Her thighs wrap tightly around his head, and she reaches down to grab onto his hair; her body grinding against every bit of flesh it comes into contact with. She was losing control, and he was a buoy, trying hard to steady himself against her current.

 

He turns his eyes to her, watching as her body writhes. She looks as though she is in pain, trying to escape the torture, but he knows better than to think she doesn’t like it. He knows better than to stop.

 

“Don’t stop,” Chloe begs, her head popping up as her hands grip tighter to his hair.

 

She moans again, her head falling back again as if she had no control over it. As if her body were going haywire, and she was just along for the ride. He reaches his free hand up and holds onto her thigh, steadying himself further against her body.

 

Her head pops up again, her eyes tightly shut as if pained.

 

“Yes,” she cries, “Yes!”

 

So much for being quiet, he thinks, an immeasurable grin of pride across his face.

 

She turns her head to the side again, as if trying to escape. He holds onto her. Her chest rises up as if she were being lifted from her rib cage. It falls as her head pops up again, her eyes open and filled with lust.

 

“Right there,” she whines, his fingers curling inside of her with little sign of stopping, Beckoning her, tempting her.

 

“Right there, right there, right here,” she repeats, each phrase getting higher pitched and more strained.

 

Then, she lets out a gasp followed by silence.

 

He continues to curl his fingers into her, feeling her muscles tense around them as her wetness increases tenfold.

 

After a few seconds of silence, she exhales to release a deep moan.

 

Lucifer watches her, his free hand feeling comfortable enough to let go of her leg. His hands snake down to his penis to find it still flaccid. The sight, the sound, the taste, and even the feel of her legs wrapped around his head should be enough, but it wasn’t. It did nothing to arouse him physically.

 

He wants to watch this, he wants to never take his eyes off of her. He feels proud of what he’s done to her, for the glow he’s brought to her skin and former response to his touch.

 

Yet behind the pride and the intrigue lays a worry. What if it was happening, even now? When he was attempting to touch himself and failing, that was his problem and his alone. If he couldn’t do it now, it was her problem too. It was their problem.

 

Chloe rides each wave of her orgasm. Her moans softer, and less constrained each time until her body relaxes and her breathing – still labored - is no longer interrupted by her moans.

 

When she is clearly done with her orgasm, Lucifer slowly pulls his fingers from her. He takes great pleasure in licking his fingers clean as she watches him. Then he climbs up and lays his body between her legs again. 

 

“If I would have known you’d taste so good,” he says, moving to her neck, “I wouldn’t have spoiled my appetite.”

 

She reaches out and grabs his torso with both hands before yanking him closer to her. She begins to kiss him passionately, tasting herself on his lips again.

 

He begins to grind his hips into her with slow, deliberate thrusts, hoping the simulation would be stimulating.

 

He separates his lips from hers, “Are you always that loud when you cum?” he asks, “or was that for my benefit?”

 

She chuckles and pulls him closer again, “You’re a dick,” she says, her voice smooth and low and sultry. She is clearly relaxed and comfortable, and – he imagines- clear of all the tension she had carried in her body.

 

She pauses, concern in her eyes.

 

“Was that loud?” she asks,” do you think we woke her?”

 

Her eyes shift to the door behind her.

 

“Don’t worry Detective, I tired the little urchin out. I’ll be surprised if you can wake her in the morning.”

 

She smiles at him and pulls him in for another kiss.

 

She snakes her hand between their bodies and starts to rub him over his underwear. He sees the shift in her eyes from an intense lust to curiosity when she finds he is still flaccid. She pushes him away slightly as she slips a hand into his underwear and finds his still flaccid cock. She tries to hide the shock in her face that he wasn’t already hard. It’s too late though, he’s already seen it. A hot wave of heat falls over him, and it's not lust or anger; its shame; it’s the beginning of panic.

 

He inhales sharply at her touch.

 

“Your hands are cold,” he says.

 

She looks at him and says nothing, her eyes speaking volumes about what she wanted from him. He didn’t care that her hands were cold. She could have left them in an ice bath prior, and he would still relish in that look.

 

She pushes him off of her, and he leans back on his knees, kneeling between her legs.

 

She reaches her hand inside the elastic fabric of his waistband and begins to stroke his cock, pulling it from the confines of his underwear.

 

She smiles to herself, as if very happy with what she was seeing. It’s not that she hadn’t seen it before, but this was up close and personal. Not many penis’s she found to be beautiful, but his was. She could see why he was proud of it.

 

She continues to stroke him, a weighty love behind her eyes.

 

He groans and closes his eyes; her hands soft and cold but pleasing. They warm up quickly to his temperature, and he finds it harder to keep his hands still. It feels good, and he doesn’t want her to stop. He tries to concentrate. Why did he need to focus? This has never been a problem before.

 

Slowly, her smile begins to fall as the more she strokes him, the more she realizes it isn’t having any effect.

 

He looks down and watches her, a slow realization coming over him that it wasn’t happening now either; when he needed it the most.

 

She sends him a soft, reassuring smile and brushes her hair out of the way before taking him into her mouth. He watches her as he is hit with a sense of Déjà vu. Except this time, he wanted it to happen. He wanted her.

 

With one hand, she strokes him while her tongue does laps around the head of his penis in her mouth.

 

She does this for a few moments before they both realize at the same time it isn’t doing anything. He looks down at her, his eyes wide and with nothing to say.

 

This has _never_ happened to him before.

 

He had always been more than willing to perform at the drop of a hat. With the woman from the sex group, that was different. He had no interest in her, and his body knew that before he did, but now … all he wanted was Chloe. All he had ever wanted was Chloe.

 

_Why was his body not responding the way it should?_

 

What would she think of him? He had bragged and shown great pride in his ability as a lover, and here he was, in her bedroom, struggling to get it up.

 

“Are you nervous?” she says, temporarily taking him out of her mouth, as she continues to stroke him.

 

“I … I, “he stutters, horror in his eyes, “Detective, this has never –“

 

“It’s okay to be nervous,” she says, getting up on her knees, her hand still holding him, stroking him.

 

“It’s kind of sweet,” she says with a smile, placing a hand on his face.

 

“No, no, it’s not,” he says, an anger building in his eyes, “I’ve never had this happen to me.”

 

“It’s okay, we don’t have to do anything tonight,” she says, “Though … now the tables seem a little uneven.”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“No, I want to,” he says, a panic in his voice, “Honestly, I _really_ want to. Maybe we … just give it a little more time.”

 

Suddenly there is a tiny knock on the door, and all sense of privacy and intimacy drains from Chloe’s face.

 

“Mommy?” a voice says on the other side of the door.

 

She pushes Lucifer out of the way as she scurries off the bed and tosses on a robe nearby. Lucifer falls to the floor and hurriedly slips himself back into his underwear before dragging the sheet off the bed and covering himself.

 

Chloe ties the robe around her waist and approaches the door. She briefly looks back to make sure Lucifer is no longer exposed and then cracks the door open to find Alien Princess Trixie looking up at her with dough eyes.

 

“I don’t feel good,” she says.

 

Chloe slips between the crack of the door and shuts it behind her.

 

She ushers Trixie back downstairs.

 

“What’s wrong, Monkey?” she asks as she ushers Trixie down the steps.

 

“My tummy hurts,” she replies.

 

“Your tummy hurts?” she says as they enter the kitchen, “why does your tummy hurt?”

 

Chloe goes to a cupboard by the fridge and opens it before pulling out a pink bottle.

 

“I don’t know,” Trixie says, the tone behind her voice saying she does know.

 

“You don’t?” Chloe says, the tone of her voice insinuating she knows that Trixie knows, “What did you eat? Did Lucifer give you dinner?”

 

Trixie nods as Chloe approaches the counter and sets the medicine on it.

 

“Well?” she asks, “what did you eat?”

 

“Corndogs,” Trixie says, her eyes averting from Chloe.

 

Chloe nods and turns to the medicine bottle. She takes the measurement cup off the top and reads the bottle for a second.

 

“Corndogs? Was this before or after your puked on him?”

 

Trixie giggles a bit then stops as she holds onto her stomach. It’s clear she is not feigning a sickness.

 

“What else did you eat?” Chloe asks.

 

Chloe pours out a serving of the pink medicine and sets the cup on the table. Trixie looks at the medicine then at Chloe, who stands waiting for her to respond. She sighs and casts her feet to the floor.

 

“Ice cream and funnel cakes,” she says.

 

Chloe smiles, “That’s what I thought.”

 

“and cotton candy and cheesecake and snowcones.”

 

Chloe's eyes raise, ‘Well, no wonder you feel sick, monkey! You ate too much junk.”

 

Lucifer comes down the steps, still shirtless, and locks eyes with Chloe.

 

Chloe hands Trixie the medicine cup.

 

“Or rather Lucifer fed you too much junk,” she says.

 

Trixie downs the cup and makes up her face as if she didn’t like the taste.

 

“Pardon?” Lucifer says.

 

Trixie turns to him and furrows her eyebrows as she sees him shirtless with no shoes on.

 

“You fed Trixie every fair food in the book!” Chloe says.

 

“Yes, well, you can’t really enjoy the sights and sounds without a bit of sugar.”

 

“A bit of sugar? You fed her a whole month’s worth in one day,” Chloe says.

 

“Oh, look at her. _She’s fine_.” Lucifer says, pointing to Trixie.

 

They both look at her, and she seems the opposite of fine. She looks absolutely miserable.

 

Chloe sighs as Trixie hands her back the empty medicine cup. She sets the cup on the table then reaches for a paper towel. She dampens the paper towel and kneels as she begins to wipe the rest of the face paint off of Trixie’s face.

 

“You know better than to eat all that junk,” she says to Trixie.

 

“And you should know better than to feed her all that junk!” she says to Lucifer.

 

Lucifer raises his hands as he enters the living room and leans down to slip on his shoes.

 

Chloe stands and tosses the paper towel into the trash can.

 

“Go lay down, Monkey,” she says, “I’ll come to tuck you in, in a second.”

 

Trixie turns and heads back to her bedroom.

 

Chloe shakes her head and looks at Lucifer.

 

“I am in trouble, aren’t I?” he asks.

 

She chuckles to herself and shakes her head before turning to the sink and washing out the measuring cup.

 

“At least when Dan gives in to her sugar addiction, he only brings her one slice of chocolate cake,” she says.

 

“Well, serves you right for leaving me alone with the child,” he says.

 

She laughs, making him smile. She puts the measuring cup on the bottle and then puts the bottle into the cupboard.

 

“I think you’re in denial about how much you enjoyed spending time with her,” she says, walking around the counter, “I think that makes me right about you.”

 

“About what?” he asks.

 

“That you’d make a good father someday.”

He scoffs, “I did just poison your child, Detective,” he says as she moves past him towards Trixie’s room, “ If that isn’t proof about my potential as a parent then … well, I’m sad to say you aren’t as smart as I thought you were.”

 

She turns to him momentarily, a cheeky smile on her face before she enters Trixie’s room.

 

Lucifer sighs and puts his hands in his pants. If she were trying to keep him flaccid, he thinks, he could just continue to mention anything about him having his own spawn.

 

He pauses as he hears light whispering coming from Trixie’s bedroom. Slowly he walks over to the door and peeks into the doorway to see Chloe sitting on the bed next to Trixie. She is rubbing her hair and speaking lovingly to her.

 

“Did you enjoy your day with Lucifer?” she asks.

 

Trixie nods, “did you see all my prizes?” she asks.

 

“I did!” Chloe says, “there’s so many.”

 

“Lucifer got them for me,” she says.

 

Lucifer clears his throat at the doorway, and they both turn to him.

 

“I uhm, I’m going to get the other prizes from the car,” he says.

 

Chloe nods and smiles as he disappears from the doorway.

 

“Mommy?” Trixie asks.

 

Chloe turns to her, “hmm?”

 

“Are you and Lucifer going to make a baby?”

 

She pauses, the smile immediately dropping from her face.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

“Am I going to get a baby brother?” Trixie asks.

 

Right, she thinks, Linda gave her the talk.

 

 “Uhm,” she says, “No. Lucifer doesn’t want babies and … you’re my baby, so why would I need another one?”

 

“I’m not a baby,” Trixie says.

 

“You’re not?” Chloe says, the tone in her voice joking.

 

Trixie shakes her head.

 

“You’ll always be my baby,” Chloe says, leaning in to kiss Trixie. She pauses, realizing where her mouth just was. She sits back and reaches out, moving hair from the side of Trixie’s face.

 

 “Do you like Lucifer?” Chloe asks.

 

Trixie nods.

 

“Do you want to see him around more often?” she asks.

 

Trixie nods again with a smile.

 

“Even if he doesn’t bring you cake?” she says, the tone of her voice low and playful.

 

Trixie pauses, thinks about it for a second then nods.

 

Chloe laughs.

 

She hears the front door close and turns to the open doorway before turning back to Trixie.

 

“Do you feel better?” she asks.

 

“A little,” Trixie says.

 

Chloe stands up and tucks Trixie in.

 

“Get some sleep then, okay?

 

Trixie slides into a comfortable position, and Chloe stands.

 

“Goodnight, Monkey,” she says.

 

“Good night Mommy,” Trixie replies.

 

Chloe approaches the light switch and turns it off. She peers back to Trixie one last time before sliding the door closed to her bedroom.

 

She pauses, taking in what Trixie said.

 

She turns just as Lucifer moves to place an oversized teddy bear into her living room. She turns to watch him, and her eyes widen as the entire kitchen floor is filled with stuffed animals.

 

She shakes her head, “Wha … How did you…”

 

“I told you,” he says, “They were rather unfair.”

 

She chuckles and brings a hand up to her mouth. Lucifer looks at her oddly, not seeing what is funny about that.

 

Or was she laughing at him? At his inability to perform.

 

“A fair is unfair?” she says, approaching him.

 

His slight offense drains from him as he gets the joke isn’t about him and nods.

 

“Ah, I see,” he says.

Her smile fades as she approaches him. She elongates her arms to wrap around his neck and looks up to him with a soft smile. The way she is looking at him, the love in her eyes, makes him relax.

 

It’s all a lie, a voice says in the back of his mind.

 

“Hey …,” she says, catching him with that look in his eyes, “Don’t feel bad, it happens to everyone at some point,” she says.

 

He shakes his head, “Not to me,” he says, “My virility and stamina have always been part of who I am Detective. Without it, I’m rather boring.”

 

She smiles widely.

 

“I think you’re rather interesting, Mr. Morningstar,” she says, pulling herself closer to him.

 

He sighs. He doesn’t believe he has anything to offer her besides his sexual prowess.

 

“Besides, we can do other things …” she says.

 

 “You mean, I can do other things,” he says with a grin.

 

She bites her lip, her eyes moving down to his lips. Then she leans up on her tiptoes and plants a kiss on his lips. She can still taste herself on his lips.

 

When she pulls away from him, he can see it in her eyes; she wanted more.

 

“I just … of anyone,” he says,” you deserve a night to remember.”

 

“Do you intend to be with me for just one night?” she asks, her eyebrows furrowing at the implication.

 

He shakes his head, “Of course not,” he says, “I imagine it will take several nights to drain me of my desire for you. Not all of it, mind you … just the bits that keep me awake at night.”

 

She laughs and separates from him, “Then why place so much pressure on one night when we have the rest of our lives?”

 

He nods. He supposes … he supposes she was right. He hadn’t thought of it that way before. Usually, all of his sexual escapades functioned on a single night to prove himself. With her, he had many days, or months or even years to show her all he was capable of. He didn’t have to spend one night doing everything to her body he could imagine.

 

“Or at least until I get tired of you,” she says, laughing.

 

His smile fades. He doesn’t find that funny.

 

“Pardon?” he says.

 

She sees the offense in his eyes and sets a hand on his chest, “Relax,” she says, “That was a joke.”

 

“Oh,” he says, still not amused.

 

They stand in an awkward silence before he looks around to all the stuffed animals on the floor.

 

“Well,” he says, “I suppose I should go since I’m of no use to you sexually at the moment.”

 

Chloe smiles a reassuring smile and approaches him laying a hand on his chest.

 

“It’s okay to be nervous,” she says, “I will admit there has been much anticipation on my end and maybe … maybe we’re just placing too much value on it?”

 

“It has been a month, Detective,” he says.

 

She nods and trails her eyes down to his chest, where her hand sits.

 

“I know, and we will end that very soon,” she says, “We are still going out to dinner, right?”

 

He nods, “Of course.”

 

“Then let’s just … let’s just take it one day at a time and see what happens.”

 

She reaches down to move some of the stuffed animals out of the walkway.

 

“Right,” he says, watching her.

 

She had told him it was okay to be nervous. It was okay to feel pressure for their first time, their first real time. But he wasn’t nervous. He knew nerves when he felt it, and this wasn’t it.

 

_This was something else._

 

\--

It’s dark in Daniel’s hospital room. Save for the light above the machines that steady beep a calm tune, it is rather still here.

 

He is alone here one moment, then the next Amenadiel stands by his bed, a pained look on his face. He watches, listening, and feeling the stillness of this room, with great remorse behind his eyes.

 

“Daniel,” he says softly, making sure Dan is asleep.

 

When Dan doesn’t stir or respond, Amenadiel sighs and reaches back and plucks a single feather from his wings. He looks at it for a moment, then at Dan.

 

“I …I’m sorry,” he says, “I was meant to make this as easy for you as possible, but I failed.”

 

He stares at a sleeping Dan.

 

“I failed you,” he says sadly.

 

Amenadiel reaches up and cracks the feather in half.

 

“But I’m going to fix this,” he says, “I’m going to make it right.”

 

He reaches out and places half of the feather onto Dan’s arm. Then he covers the feather with his hand and closes his eyes.

 

“One for the body,” he says.

 

The feather burns with a bright gold light and dissipates.

 

He watches as the glow fades and waits a few seconds before placing the second feather on Dan’s arm.

 

He covers the feather with his hand and closes his eyes.

 

“One for the soul,” he says.

 

The feather burns with a bright gold light and dissipates.

 

He removes his hands, his eyes still on sleeping, Dan. He tosses him a small smile, a sense of relief coming over him as he knows Dan is on his way to being okay.

 

He turns to leave, and his eyes catch Dan’s arm to see a feather-shaped burn mark on Dan’s arm. He pauses and turns back to his arm. He reaches out and rubs his fingers across Dan’s arm, drawing a line of ash across his arm. He pulls his fingers back and rubs the ash between his fingers. He looks at it, his eyes narrowing and turning to Daniel.

 

 _Or maybe not_.

 


	15. The BladeMaker's Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> \----
> 
> We learn about the circumstances of Calmos's birth, Calmos has a fight with Atmos, Lucifer has more dreams and comes to a grave conclusion, Amenadiel attempts to figure out what is wrong with Daniel, Natalie gets an unannounced visitor, Ezria plans a trip, Ella starts a new case and Chloe and Lucifer just need to fuck already.
> 
> \---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \---
> 
> Merry Christmas! I hope everyone is having a pleasant enough holiday. See you in the new year!
> 
> \---

It’s nighttime in 16th century England and, except for the small orange glow of a lantern that sits on the edge of a long dirt road, it is pitch black. The sky is clearly visible, as are its stars. 

 

Atmos sits on a stool, sharpening a metal axe on a grinding wheel as a young man in his early teen's hand cranks the wheel for him. He watches it, as if in a trance. 

 

It comforts him deeply as sparks of fire spray from the grinding metal. His eyes turn upward as he sees the gentle swaying of a light down the road.

 

Someone approaches.

 

He turns his attention back to the axe, slowly pressing it into the grinding wheel as the young boy hand cranks it. Atmos and his apprentice sit relative in silence as he continues to sharpen the axe.

 

Atmos pulls the blade away and turns to eye it in the light from the lantern. The apprentice stops cranking the wheel and shakes his hand. It is clear he has been doing this for a while and is happy to have a break. Atmos eyes the blade, letting each dim glow of light catch it from every angle. 

 

He turns back to the grindstone. The apprentice looks down the road as the swaying light gets closer, and he can start to hear the clap of donkey hooves on dirt.

 

Atmos looks at the still wheel then at the teen and scowls.

 

“There are others who would be keen to take your position, Rowan,” he says. 

 

Rowan turns back to him and quickly goes back to spinning the grinding wheel.

 

“A thousand apologies, master,” he says, his eyes cast down towards the wheel.

 

Atmos sets the blade back to the stone and continues to grind.

 

The cart approaches pulled by two donkeys with a single man holding a lantern in his hand in the driver’s seat.

 

Atmos looks up at him briefly, then turns back to the wheel just as the cart stops in front of the shack.

 

“Blacksmith,” the man says, “have you finished the blades?”

 

Atmos pulls the axe off the grinding stone casually and sets it aside. Rowan stops cranking and again rests his hand. Atmos turns and enters a doorway that leads to the blacksmith shop. 

 

Inside his work area are his bellows, hammers, anvils, and in the center – filled with dimly lit but still burning coals - his forge. Behind this room is another room with a small open door, it leads into his living quarters.

 

He turns to a table that sits beneath an open window. Here several bundles of linen lay wrapped around long objects. He approaches the desk and sifts through the bundles, tossing linen off them before covering them back up. They were not the swords he was looking for.

 

“Hello,” a hushed voice says, coming from the window.

 

Atmos looks up to see a woman in her late teens wearing a dark head wrap and hidden behind a nearby cart. She seems to be taking great measures to be unseen.

 

“Are you Atmos? The dealmaker?” she whispers.

 

Atmos smiles then turns down to the linen bundle beneath him. He flips the linen back then covers it again, pleased he has found the right one.

 

He turns back to the window.

 

“One moment, my Lady,” he says with a wicked smile.

 

He turns and exits the shack to find Rowan still standing near the wheel and the man sitting on his cart.

 

“I believe these will suffice,” Atmos says, presenting the bundle to the man. 

 

The man in the cart switches the lantern into his left hand and leans forward to pull back the linen on the blades. He pulls the lantern closer to see it, then smiles.

 

“Excellent!” he says, “Put it in the back.”

 

Atmos nods and turns to Rowan. Rowan approaches, and Atmos slides the bundle into his hands. Rowan then walks around the back of the cart and sets the blades into the back. He holds onto the cart before climbing in and pushing the blades further, away from the edge.

 

“Tell me, will these blades be used in war?” Atmos asks.

 

The man laughs, “Maybe. My lord isn’t the warring type, but they may come in handy.”

 

The man on the cart reaches around his waist and unties a small burlap pouch. He takes the bag and tosses it to Atmos. Atmos catches it, and it rings as the coins inside hit each other.

 

“As always, a pleasure,” Atmos says. 

 

The man smiles and turns just as Rowan hops off the cart. He turns back to his donkeys and slaps the reigns, moving the cart forward.

 

Rowan passes Atmos and goes back to his position by the grinding wheel, his hand ready to crank again. Atmos looks at the coins, then turns just as the woman by the shack peeks around the corner, and they lock eyes. He opens the pouch and pulls out a single coin before approaching Rowan.

 

“Your payment,” Atmos says, flipping the coin in Rowans Direction.

 

Rowan catches it and looks at it for a moment before raising his eyebrows.

 

“Oh, oh, thank you!” he says excitedly.

 

Atmos nods, “Now leave. I will see you again before dawn.”

 

Rowan nods and approaches a stool near the entrance to the forge. The woman sees him and ducks back beneath the cart.

 

Rowan leans down and picks up an unlit lantern before turning to the lit lantern and lighting it with a stick from the ground. 

 

“Until morning, Master,” he says with a smile.

 

Atmos nods and watches as he walks down the dirt path. When he is a decent enough distance away, Atmos turns to the cart near the door.

 

“And what is someone like you doing out at night, I wonder?” he asks, an unsettling sweetness behind his voice.

 

There is a slight shuffling before the woman pops up from around the cart. He eyes her, getting a sense of who she is. She is young, definitely late teens, but she carries herself like a woman whose seen enough about life to know it isn’t all it should be.

 

“I was told you could help me,” she says.

 

“It depends on what you need help with,” he says.

 

She approaches him cautiously, her hands tightly wound as if unsure.

 

“My husband, he wants a son, but all I’ve been able to give him are daughters. I'm afraid he will leave me for another woman if I don't bare him an heir.”

 

Atmos chuckles to himself and reaches down to grab the lantern, “So you require a son?” he asks.

 

She nods and reaches into her pocket for a purse full of coins, “It is all we have, but if you can provide us with a son, we will forever be in your debt.”

 

Atmos looks at the purse then to her. He narrows his eyes.

 

“Does your husband know of your scheme?” he asks.

 

She lowers her eyes in shame, and he smiles.

 

He then lowers his eyes back to her purse. He laughs to himself then turns to enter the forge. The woman looks at him and shakes her head.

 

“Please,” she says, “We will give you whatever you want.”

 

Atmos pauses then slowly turns to her. His eyes hungrily cast over her body then meet at her eyes. He turns and sets the lantern down on the table, then turns back to her.

 

“Keep your coins,” he says, reaching down to untie the belt around his pants, “I require a different kind of payment.”

 

The woman watches him as he unties his pants and shakes her head

.

“No,” she says, “I believe you misunderstand my request.”

 

Atmos shakes his head as his pants drop, revealing his naked waist. She averts her eyes.

 

“You want a son, then so be it. I will give you a son,” he says as he reaches down and begins to stroke himself.

 

She shakes her head and turns to leave, “No, I … I’ve made a mistake,” she says.

 

Atmos shrugs but continues to stroke himself. She leaves, and he stands there, still stroking his growing erection.

 

Seconds pass, and he stands there, a hungry look in his eyes. Suddenly, she enters the doorway again, this time shamed. Her eyes trail down to his waist to see his full erection standing proud. 

 

She enters and slowly shuts the door behind her before pausing, verifying in her head she was going to do this. She cautiously turns to see a smile on his face, his head tilted as he watches her.

 

“You can promise me a son?” she asks.

 

Atmos nods.

 

She sighs and approaches him, an air of reluctant submission to her.

 

He turns his head to a nearby table.

 

“There,” he says, pointing to the table.

 

She approaches the table and pulls herself onto it. The wood creaks beneath her. 

 

Atmos approaches her and lifts the hem of her skirt with one hand while he strokes himself with the other. She turns her head away from him as he moves in closer to her, positioning himself between her legs.

 

He rubs his cock against her pussy until he finds her entrance. Then he bears down, slowly sliding himself into her with pressure. She gasps in pain, her body not interested in accepting him at all. 

 

He pulls out and reaches his hand up, spitting into it before rubbing the saliva over his erection. He tries again, this time it being a little easier. He slides into her again, inch by inch going deeper. Then he stops and adjusts his grip on the table before he delivers short thrusts.

 

It rocks the creaky table, hitting the back of the dirt and stone wall.

He groans as he thrust into her. She turns her head away from him, not wanting to see but unable to not hear his breaths or his moans. Not able to not feel him in her most intimate of places; inside her.

 

He continues to thrust into her, his breathing increasing. He reaches his hands beneath her dress and grabs onto the flesh of her buttocks. Then, he leans back and pulls her further off the table and onto him.

 

Tears start coming down her face, but she holds her whimper in. She holds onto the table, trying to maintain a grip and not fall off.

 

He continues to thrust into her, his breathing becoming louder and his movements more powerful. It sends a loud crack through the room as his skin meets hers just long enough for him to be as deep as he can go.

 

Then suddenly he stops, and his groans turn into a deep and guttural moan, his thrusting slow as he spills himself into her. Then they stay there, intertwined as he comes down from his orgasm.

 

He pulls himself out of her and crosses to a rag near a bucket of dirty water. Here he wipes her off of him, and tosses the towel to the side before reaching down and pulling his pants up.

 

She slides off the table and fixes her dress, an immense shame in her eyes. Atmos finished tying his pants then approaches the forge. Here he sticks his hand deep into the smoldering coals and pulls out a metal container with strange markings on it. 

 

He pops it open to reveal a pile of dark ash. He takes a pinch of it and turns to approach her. She looks at him, unsure of what to do. 

 

He stops in front of her and raises the hem of her dress with one hand. With the other hand, he smears the ash between her legs. 

 

She closes her eyes tightly, not liking this feeling at all. The ash is warm and only heats up more until it feels like it was never there at all.

Atmos lets go of her dress and goes back to the tin by the forge.

 

“Go,” Atmos says, “Lay with your husband this night. In nine months, you will bear a son.”

 

She looks at him, a shame in her eyes. She turns and heads to the door and slowly opens it. In the doorway, she pauses and turns back to Atmos as he reaches down and picks up the lantern.

 

He turns and looks at her.

 

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he says.

 

She nods and leaves.

 

He rolls his eyes. 

 

He has no interest in telling. She wasn’t anything special to him.

 

It was just another day in this despicably treacherous place for a crossroads demon.  

 

He thought coming here would be wonderful, and so he had jumped at the opportunity to smell air free from sulfur and feel the heat of the sun on his skin. 

 

But that was before he experienced how fickle humans were. He was told they were blood-thirsty and only knew of war, but he had come to find war was sparse. 

 

People fought, but a single fight was not what he wanted. He made blades for those who would go forth and draw blood, only to find his swords were only centerpieces; blades to fuel pride and ego. 

 

He wanted out, he wanted to go back home. It wasn't perfect, but at least there his blades could be put to use. Yet …

 

He turns back to the door. 

 

He couldn’t deny the women here were …  _easy_  to please.

 

\--

 

Several months later, Atmos is inside his forge. Nearby Rowan pumps air from the bellows into the coals to heat them up. Atmos hammers out iron on a nearby anvil as a heavy rain pours outside. 

 

It is evening, and the sun begins to settle over the horizon. Every few moments, a wagon trots by, splashing muddy water into the axe grinding area.

 

Suddenly, a woman wearing a shawl over her head and carrying a covered basket enters. Rowan and Atmos stop and look up as she steps into the forge and uncovers her head. Atmos recognizes her as the woman he made a deal with. She looks pale and tired.

 

He looks down the basket in her hand and sees a tiny hand, its fingers curled up, poking out.

 

He goes back to hammering.

 

“I don’t need to see the child,” he says, “our deal is done.”

 

He turns and dips the forming blade into a dirty bucket of water behind him.

 

The woman steps forward angrily.

 

“Something is wrong with him,” she says, “this is not what I asked for.”

 

She sets the basket down on the anvil. Atmos turns to it and lays eyes on a small baby boy inside the basket. His eyes are closed as he is fast asleep.

 

Atmos looks at the child then at her. He lets go of the iron rod attached to the quenching blade and pulls back the damp cloth covering the baby. 

 

He is not at all shocked to find a penis between its legs.

 

Atmos looks back at her.

 

“I believe you wanted a son,” he says, “and I gave you a son. A rather healthy baby boy, I might add. You're welcome.”

 

Rowan stands by, still peering at them while working the bellows.

 

“That is not a boy,” she says angrily, “that is a …that is a ..”

 

Atmos looks at her oddly.

 

“Use your words!” he yells, annoyed by her interruptions.

 

“That is not a boy!” is all she manages to say.

 

Atmos looks down as the baby begins to stir, woken by their loud voices. Its eyes open, and Atmos pauses in horror. The baby looks directly at him, its eyes steely and dead like that of a corpse. He quickly covers the baby with a blanket and turns to Rowan.

 

“Go get more wood to burn,” he says.

 

Rowan starts to protest.

 

“GO!” Atmos yells, the timbre in his voice unsettling. 

 

Rowan drops the bellow and scurries away. When he leaves, Atmos turns back to the baby and uncovers it. The baby looks at him, its legs kicking in the air.

 

Atmos turns to the woman.

 

“Did you lay with your husband?” he asks.

 

“What?” she says

 

“That night, after our deal. Did you lay with your husband?” he asks.

 

She shakes her head, “I .. I couldn’t. I felt …”

 

Atmos groans and brings his hand to his head.

 

He turns around, trying to figure out what to do.

 

“This is not what I wanted,” she says, stepping forward, “You need to fix this. My husband hasn’t seen his eyes yet. I’ve tried everything to keep him away, but it's been three days now. I can’t hide this any longer.”

 

She looks down at the baby boy kicking in the basket happily. Despite his eyes being dead and unsettling, the rest of him was …. perfect. Her heart is filled with an odd love.

 

Atmos turns to her, “You didn’t get what you wanted because you didn’t follow my orders,” he says.

 

“You were to lay with your husband that night, and you didn’t.”

 

She shakes her head, “that has nothing to do with our deal.”

 

“That  _was_ our deal!” he screams.

 

The baby starts to cry, and she moves forward to comfort him. Atmos grabs the basket before she can take him and holds him away.

 

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he says, “do you?”

 

She looks at him oddly.

 

“Go, before I tell the town what a  _whore_  you are.”

 

She looks at him, anger, and fear behind her eyes. She wants to say something to him but instead doesn’t.

 

“What will you do with him?” she asks.

 

“That is none of your concern,” he says, the façade behind his flesh dropping momentarily and the steely dead eyes of a demon coming out.

 

She glances in horror and backs up.

 

“You … you’re not …you’re...”

 

She doesn’t finish her sentence. Instead, she turns and runs in horror, screaming at the top of her lungs.

 

Atmos turns, his human flesh seeping back onto his face, and he sets the basket down on the table. He looks at the baby again and sighs.

 

A halfling. How  _disgusting._

 

Halflings never lasted long in hell or earth. Either through a terrified man, or an uninterested demon, halflings were dead before they could learn to walk. This child shouldn’t exist. 

 

He grabs the basket with one hand and walks through his living quarters, where he picks up a sharpened axe leaning against the door with his free hand. He heads out the backdoor into a large grassy field.

 

He crosses the grassy field, the sun already dropping below the horizon and threatening to end its perpetual light. He continues until he hits the edge of a thick forest. Here he walks further until he is deeper into the woods. Just far enough to see his shop, but not be seen doing what he intends to do.

 

Here he sets the basket down on the ground and turns to where he came from. He can just make out the light of torches going down the road to his smith shop. He turns back to the baby and sighs.

 

“The only good thing to come of you is that maybe now I can go back,” he says, “a known demon at a crossroads? What ever would they do?”

 

He laughs at the idea as if finding the concept of their horror amusing.

 

The baby sits in the basket, its thumb in its mouth and its eyes a piercing, yet dead silver.

 

Atmos peels the cover back and grabs the baby by the arm before setting it on the wet and cold ground. The baby starts to cry; it no longer being comfortable.

 

Atmos raises his lip in disgust and pulls the axe off the ground. Already this child was weak. If he were to have a son, he would not be weak, yet alone half-human. Atmos' blood was strong, and only strong blood would suffice.

 

He raises the axe to the sky over his shoulders, ready to swing it down right onto the baby.

 

Suddenly, footsteps clatter through the brush, and Rowan jumps through the woods and knocks Atmos over. The axe falls a few feet from his hands.

 

“What the …” Atmos says, turning as Rowan stands and grabs the baby and the basket.

 

“Rowan!” Atmos says, his flesh shifting.

 

“You don’t want to see me angry,” he says.

 

Rowan’s eyes widen, and he sticks the baby in the basket as he turns to run back to the blacksmith, towards the light of the torches.

 

Atmos stands and watches as Rowan runs, looking behind him every few feet to make sure he isn’t being chased.

 

 He isn’t.

 

Atmos stands there, in the brush of the woods watching as Rowan hits the open grassy knoll, heading straight to the light of torches in the blacksmith shop.

 

When Rowan reaches the blacksmith, it is besieged by angry townspeople and a crying woman.

 

“My baby!” she says, “what did he do to my baby!”

 

They turn as Rowan burst through, his breath ragged and a crying child in the basket in his hand. The townspeople turn to him, and the woman’s face goes white.

 

“The woods,” he says, pointing, “He…the blacksmith … not ….in the woods,” he says.

 

“Calm yourself, son,” a priest says approaching him. 

 

A tall man wearing a burlap vest comes and grabs the basket from Rowan. He looks into the basket to see a crying baby boy, his eyes a dead silver. His eyes widen, and he turns to his wife. She watches him and sees the look of horror on his face.

 

“What?” she says, anxiety in her voice. She moves to approach the basket, and the man pushes her away.

 

“Don’t look,” he says.

 

She shakes her head, trying to feign knowing.

 

The man turns to Rowan and grabs him by the collar with his free hand.

 

“What did you do to my boy?” he asks.

 

Rowan shakes his head, “The blacksmith!” he keeps repeating, “in the woods.”

 

The man lets go of Rowan and turns to the door behind him, looking into the darkening brush of the woods across an empty field to find nothing.

 

The men turn to Rowan, his eyes wide, and his breath still ragged despite standing still. He seems to be having a breathing attack. He falls to his knees, clutching his chest.

 

“I can’t … I can’t breathe,” he says.

 

“It’s witchcraft!” a man yells from near the door. 

 

The crowd agrees.

 

“Give me my baby,” the woman begs, holding her hand out to the basket.

 

 The father shakes his head no.

 

“Get her out of here,” he says.

 

She shakes her head, “No!” she says, lunging forward. She grabs him and looks at his eyes. They are still silver. She already knows they were silver, but she feigns a shock; she feigns her new horror. She turns her eyes to her husband, who looks down at her in pity.

 

“My baby,” she says.

 

She turns to Rowan, who in on the floor, his breathing turning into a deep wheeze.

 

“What did you do to my baby!” she asks.

 

The townsmen grab her and usher her out the door, leaving just the father holding the basket, the priest, and Rowan on the ground.

 

The father turns to the priest.

 

“This is not my son,” he says, handing the basket to the clothed man, “he’s an abomination.”

 

The priest takes it as the father leaves. He looks down into the basket at a still crying baby and turns to Rowan on the floor.

 

“What should we do with him?” he asks, motioning towards Rowan.

 

The man pauses and turns to Rowan.

 

“Hang him,” he says, “if he survives his attack, we shall hang him for witchcraft.”

 

The father turns again to leave before being stopped.

 

“And the child?” the man asks. 

 

The father doesn’t even turn around, but he pauses and thinks about it for a moment.

 

“Send him to hell where he belongs,” he says.

 

The clothed man turns to the basket, then looks at the forge where red hot coals still burn.

 

He seems to have a moment of questioning the morality of his decision.

 

“God help us,” he says before he chucks the basket into the coals. 

 

Then, he reaches down and grabs a wheezing Rowan and drags him out of the blacksmith shop.

 

Inside the forge, the basket starts to smoke before a small flame begins to burn the dried weave. The baby’s cries turn into a wail, then a blood-curdling scream as the fire begins to further envelop the basket.

 

\--

 

In the woods, Atmos stands watching. There is a sick smile on his face as he realizes he would have to go back now. 

 

His cover had been blown. No way they would let him stay here. He nods to himself and sits by a tree. 

 

He will wait until deeper in the night to retrieve his items from his shop, then … then he can go home.

 

\--

 

Later, when the sky is full of stars, and there has been no movement for a while, Atmos stands from his seated position in the woods and slowly begins to walk to his shop.

 

The back door is still open, and most of the tools have been seemingly pilfered by bandits under cover of night. He sighs and moves to the creaky table. There he pulls it away from the wall to reveal a chest hidden inside the wall. 

 

He pulls the chest out and cracks it open. 

 

On top, the very first items are two jet black blades with finger holes at the ends and a strange inscription on them. He smiles and pulls them out before tucking them into his waistband. 

 

He pulls back the linen they are sitting on to reveal three smaller boxes, each closed and in pristine condition. He reaches for one when he hears a coal shuffle in the fire of the forge behind him. 

 

He turns and looks at it for a second, gauging what he's heard, before going back to his chest. 

 

Another coal shuffles. 

 

He narrows his eyes and stands, pulling out his blades. He approaches the forge and peers into it, to see the burned form of a tiny baby. He relaxes his shoulders and sighs.

 

He supposes that is one way to get rid of a halfling.

 

He turns to go back to his chest when another coal shuffles out the way. He turns back to the forge and stands shocked and somewhat pleased when the baby is moving still.

 

It’s  _alive._

 

Atmos tilts his head and sticks the blades back into the waistband of his pants. Carefully he reaches forward and pulls the charred body from the coals. The baby moves and shuffles. It can’t cry, but he can feel the vibration in its body. His eyes narrow, and he looks at it with a new sense of ownership.

 

Strong blood, indeed.

 

“I suppose I might need a new apprentice,” he says, eying it up and down.

 

What better apprentice to have than one’s own son? Someone who couldn’t say no. Someone who  _had_  to obey.

 

It was clear this halfling was more demon than human anyway. He couldn’t leave an immortal behind on earth.

 

A wicked smile comes over his face, and he turns and approaches the chest. There he takes the linen that sat on top of the boxes and wraps it around the baby. He takes out one of the small boxes and puts the baby in its place.

 

He stares at it for a moment, an odd smile coming over his face, and then shuts the trunk.

 

\--

 

In Hell, Atmos stands in his forge, hammering out the metal in a new blade. Another demon stands by, working the bellows.

 

Suddenly, a young Calmos – who appears to be around five – enters from the living quarters behind the shop and runs around the forge with a wooden dowel shaped like a hellbeast.

 

“Grrr!” he says, skipping around the forge.

 

The demon working the bellow raises his eyebrows and turns to Atmos.

 

“What is wrong with your spawn?” he asks.

 

Atmos shakes his head and drops the hammer and blade. He reaches out and grabs onto Calmos’s arm quickly, yanking him closer. Then he leans down, and speaks with gritted teeth.

 

“What did I tell you about revelry?” he asks.

 

Calmos, his eyes wide, looks at Atmos with fear.

 

Atmos grabs the hell beast from Calmos’s hand and throws it into the forge.

 

“Perhaps its time you learn the value of work,” he says, letting go of Calmos’s arm, pushing him away. 

 

Calmos frowns and begins to tear up. Atmos looks at him and pauses, a look of disgust on his face.

 

“Don’t you dare,” he says.

 

Calmos tries to hold it in, but the tears keep falling. 

 

The demon working the blows starts to laugh.

 

“You been letting one of the humans raise your spawn?” the demon says.

 

Atmos’ eyes snap to him, a sharp rage behind them. He reaches into pocket of the apron around his waist and grabs his blades. He quickly approaches the demon who stops laughing when he sees the look on Atmos’s face.

 

Before the demon can respond, Atmos pulls out a blade and shoves it deep into his chest. 

 

The demon gasps and grabs onto Atmos’s hand, trying to pull the blade out of his chest.

 

“Say it again,” Atmos says, sinking the blade deeper with a bone-breaking crunch, “tell me about my son again?”

 

Fire starts to crawl across the demon’s face as he desperately tries to pull the blade out. But Atmos is holding his pressure steady. The demon reaches into his pocket to pull out his own blade, but by the time his fingers wrap around it, the fire has finished crawling through his veins, and he bursts into a thousand particles of ash. 

 

Anything that could catch fire does, and Atmos pauses as he hears the metal clang of the blades in his pockets hitting the ground.

 

He reaches down and picks the blades up before tossing them into a pile of scrap metal near the forge.

 

He turns to see a terrified Calmos standing still.

 

Atmos narrows his eyes and wipes the burned blood off his blades with his apron before shoving them back into his pocket. He then wipes the blood off his hands with his apron.

 

“Every time you show emotion, you show weakness,” he says, casting the towel aside and going to a nearby table with tools spread about it.

 

“And every time you show weakness, I have to show strength.”

 

Calmos watches as he pulls the leather strap from the wall, the one used to sharpen blades.

 

“No matter how many times I tell you, you  _still_ disobey,” he says, wrapping the leather strap around his fist. 

 

Calmos’s eyes widen as he slowly begins to realize what is happening. He begins to slowly back up as Atmos approaches.

 

“If I can’t talk strength into you,” he says, “perhaps I can beat the weakness out of you.”

 

Calmos turns to run, but Atmos reaches out a hand and grabs him.

 

“This is what happens when you act mortal,” he says, " Mortals fear death, and we embrace it. Mortals are spoiled by emotion while we strip ourselves of that burden. Mortals are weak, and I will not raise a weak son.”

 

\--

 

Inside the cold-water Lagoon, a much older Calmos returns from Ezria’s tower and sets the yoke and his empty buckets down onto the ground. He turns to the now widened opening to the lagoon and chuckles to himself.

 

He reaches down to pick up one of the empty buckets and slides, falling back on his rear. He groans and rolls himself onto his knees before pushing himself carefully off the ground and standing. The ground here was wet and sticky, stickier than usual.

 

A shadow goes across the opening to the cave, temporarily blocking the light coming from the other side. He turns towards it, then back to the bucket on the ground.

 

Suddenly the light from the opening is blocked again.

 

“Calmos!” Atmos says.

 

Calmos stands straight up and turns to the voice of his father.

 

“Yes, Father?” he asks.

 

“I need more water in the forge.”

 

“Right away,” he says as the shadow disappears.

 

He carefully kneels down and sinks the water into the lagoon, slowly filling it up. He watches as the water streams in the bucket, and his mind temporarily goes onto Ezria; more specifically, his naked form.

 

He had seen it, if only temporarily, but he couldn’t get it out his head.

 

The bucket fills up, and Calmos sets it aside on the yoke before filling the second bucket. Then, he attaches both buckets to the yoke and carefully stands and walks out of this place. 

 

Moments later, he enters the forge. Atmos’s back is turned as he polishes a newly formed blade by his work table.

 

Calmos heads directly to a tall bucket near the forge. Here, he sets his yoke down and moves to the tall bucket. He reaches out and dumps the water down into a groove near the floor. It runs out of the building and into someplace unknown.

 

Calmos stands the tall bucket back up before turning to his yoke and detaching one of the buckets full of cold water.

 

He carefully pours the cold water into the tall bucket until it is nearly filled, he then sets his empty bucket down and wipes his brow.

 

“Ready to go,” he says.

 

Atmos turns, polishing a blade in his hand and nods. He stops as he sees Calmos’ pants are covered in blood. His waist, his knees, his feet.

 

Everything.

 

Atmos sets the blade on the counter.

 

“Where did that blood come from?” he asks.

 

“What?” Calmos says as he looks down at his pants and notices the blood.

 

“Oh,” he says, “I … I had to defend myself in the sweat pits again. Well not in the pits but from a demon from the pits.”

 

Atmos sighs.

 

“When will they learn, Calmos?” he asks.

 

Calmos shrugs, “I told him not to touch me.”

 

Atmos nods to himself and eyes Calmos. He was clearly not the strongest male demon down here, and despite his many brutal rejections, it was clear he had an affinity for men. Perhaps that is why they thought him to be an excellent target. They were wrong, obviously, but still ... it was rather annoying having to think about his safety.

 

“Perhaps it is time,” Atmos says, “that you stop your silly water route and come work for me. It will teach you a decent trade and give you a physique more ... fitting. Enough that you won't be perceived the way you are.”

 

Calmos furrows his brow, “the way I am?”

 

Atmos scoffs and turns back to his blade, “Weak,” he says.

 

“You believe me to be weak?” Calmos says, “but … you’ve always said our blood is strong. Our blood is –

 

“My blood is strong,” Atmos says, turning around, “the only benefit in life you’ve had is to have a father like me willing to protect you. But I have to say Calmos, I grow weary of defense. You’re a man now, and its time to act like it.”

 

“I do,” he says, pointing at the blood on his pants.

 

Atmos scoffs, “The amount of blood on your clothing indicates a struggle. Have you ever known me to struggle with a demon before sending them to the void?”

 

Calmos thinks for a moment.

 

“No,” Atmos says, answering his own question, “I just do it.”

 

Calmos stands there, his body language suggesting he was used to being humiliated and chastised.

 

“You will stop this water route and come work for me,” Atmos says, turning his back to Calmos and continuing to polish his blade, “you can start by smelting down the scrap metal, so I may use it to form more blades.”

 

Calmos stands there, he doesn’t like the way this sounds.

 

“My … my water route is important,” he says softly, “I go where the young ones-“

 

“I don’t care,” Atmos says, “they must learn like the rest of us. Now do as I say.”

 

Calmos stands there. He rubs his arm timidly. 

 

He didn’t want to end his water route. 

 

He didn’t want to make blades for demons to kill each other. 

 

He liked his job, and everyone liked him doing his job. What if a young one had gone to the sweat pits instead of him, where would they be?

 

“No,” he says, his voice soft and unsure.

 

Atmos pauses and raises his head. He slowly turns to Calmos, confusion, and anger just behind his eyes.

 

“Pardon?” he asks.

 

“I … I said no. My route is important, and I – I won’t stop because you don’t like it.”

 

Atmos slams the blades onto the counter and slowly approaches Calmos.

 

“I don’t believe I’ve given you the choice to defy me,” he asks, his eyes wild with rage.

 

Calmos backs up and shakes his head, “I-I am my own man, and I can make my own decision and- and I choose to -to continue my water route.”

 

“Man?” Atmos asks, starting to chuckle to himself as if he were absurd, “You’re a child Calmos. You will always be a child, and children obey their parents. Am I not your father? Did I not bring you into this world? Can I not take you out of it?”

 

Calmos backs up and bumps into a table full of scrap metal.

 

“If you aren’t here to aid me, “he says, pulling his blades from his waistband, “then what purpose do you serve?”

 

Calmos tries to back up further into the table but can’t as Atmos approaches and presses the blade against his chest.

 

“Now, I am  _done_  asking you. You  _will_  do as I say.”

 

Calmos stares into Atmos’ eyes, and all he sees in return is an unwavering disinterest. 

 

He peers deeper, trying to find anything only to find nothing, and suddenly he is hit with the cold, hard ball of the truth. 

 

He had been chasing something in his father. Dignity, Loyalty … love. He had been searching for his Father’s love and doing anything to win it. Yet here he was, staring into the disinterested look in his Father’s eye as he placed a blade up against his chest.

 

He has no doubt Atmos will end him. He has doubt Atmos won’t care to lose him. His existence seems inconsequential at best and a burden at worst. His breathing increases as waves of grief and rage cascade over him.

 

He quickly kicks his knee up, putting enough space between them that he can push Atmos away. His push is strong, stronger than Atmos thought it would be, and Atmos stumbles back until he hits the wall of the forge in the center of the room.

 

“You never loved me!” Calmos says.

 

Atmos smiles. There is intrigue in his eyes, and interest that is solely for the fight and nothing more.

 

“Oh,” he says amused, “the halfling thinks he can take me?”

 

Calmos is about to say something before he pauses. 

 

_Halfling?_

 

“What did you just cal-“

 

His words are interrupted as Atmos rushes him with the blade and slashes. Calmos is exceptionally quick and dodges out of the way, tossing fragments of metal in his face to disorient him. 

 

Calmos backs up towards the door.

 

“So this is it?” he asks, “I am nothing more to you than a servant to do your bidding?”

 

Atmos laughs and opens his arms, “Look around you child. What purpose would I have for you here? To constantly defend you? To kill demons in your name? I admit it was fun, but …at some point, it’s just hurting my customer base. Spending time protecting you instead of doing as I please.”

 

“I am your son,” he says, trying to talk some sense into Atmos.

 

Atmos nods, “A truth neither of us can deny.”

 

Atmos slowly approaches Calmos as he backs further into the doorway.

 

“Which is why I can’t promise you I’ll feel anything when I gut you,” he says, “but … I sure will try.”

 

Atmos rushes Calmos, and Calmos turns and books it out the door into an open street of moving carts and walking demons.

 

He knocks over a demon carrying a bag of human remains as Atmos steps outside. Calmos then jumps freely onto the cart, then onto a metal overhang before finally landing on top of the roof of the forge. 

Atmos steps out into the street and looks up at Calmos. He laughs to himself.

 

“You run?” he says. 

 

The demons in the pathway stop, wondering what the commotion is about.

 

Atmos laughs wildly, “You run?” he repeats.

 

Calmos looks down as more demons stop to see what is going on. He then turns to see Atmos laughing. He believes it to be the first time he’s seen his father laugh so freely, and the anger in his heart disappears again, giving way to the grief.

 

He had put up with so much in Hell, but at least he could hold onto the knowledge that at least one person – no matter how fucked up they were – would love him.

 

But had he ever been loved?

 

His eyes start to tear up, and his lips quiver. 

 

A demon looks at a laughing Atmos then turns to Calmos and notices the shine in his eyes. He furrows his eyebrows.

 

“Is he crying?” he says to himself. 

 

Another demon next to him turns to Calmos.

 

“He is,” he says, a smile on his face, “jey, he’s crying.”

 

Atmos begins to laugh louder while the demons who have stopped begin to chuckle themselves. Some demons continue on with their day, smiling in amusement while others stand by to watch.

 

Atmos continues to laugh as he walks back into his shop. Calmos stands on the roof, looking down onto the nameless demons who stand there laughing at him.

 

Suddenly, his yoke and two empty buckets are tossed onto the empty street, and the door to the blacksmith’s slams shut. A few demons continue on with their route, others whisper to themselves, and others continue to laugh. 

 

Suddenly, Calmos’ tears dry up and, again, his sadness is replaced by anger. He clenches his fist tightly, balling them as he stands there and peers down onto the crowd. He closes his fist so tight that his nails start to dig into his flesh. 

 

He is pissed.

 

He  _hates_  everyone.

 

\--

 

Inside Lucifer’s penthouse, a sleeping Lucifer tosses and turns in his bed. The sheets are off, and he wears only a pair of deep green boxer briefs, but his body is _covered_  in sweat.

 

Lucifer bolts straight up in bed and finds himself standing in the middle of bedroom that isn’t his. In fact, it isn’t anyone’s that he is familiar with. The room is full of smoke as a fire rages just on the other side of the door.

 

“My son!” a woman screams from outside, “my son is in there! Someone save my son!”

 

Lucifer begins to cough as he looks around and tries to catch his bearings. The room looks like a child’s room. 

 

In the corner, there is an unmade bed. Lucifer moves forward, trying to see if there is anyone in there when he steps on a lego.

 

“Ow! Bloody-” he begins.

 

He pauses as he starts to hear crying. He turns around and is barely able to make out wooden grill of a foldable closet door. He approaches and slides the door open before looking down and seeing the curled up form of a small boy.

 

The boy looks up at him, with teary eyes.

 

“Are you a fireman?” he asks, between sniffles.

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes and leans down, grabbing the boy before tossing him over his shoulder.

 

“Bloody unfit parents leaving a child in a burning house like this,” he grumbles.

 

He reaches the door to the bedroom, the handle already turning red from the fire behind it. He swings the door open and is met with a wall of fire. He recoils from it and turns, so the heat doesn’t singe the boy. He looks around before setting the boy down and grabbing the covers off the bed. He wraps the boy in a blanket.

 

“Don’t take that off, yeah?” he says. The boy nods, tears still coming from his eyes. Lucifer grabs him up again and drapes him over his shoulder. He turns to the flames that start to creep into the bedroom. 

 

He coughs then steps forward into the fire. 

 

The fire begins to burn him, and he marches forward quickly. He walks down the steps as the wood beneath them starts to crack and burn. His foot sinks through a stair, and the wood embeds itself into his foot. He drops the boy just on the other side of the wall of fire. The boy stands and turns to Lucifer.

 

“Go” Lucifer yells, “I’ll be fine.” 

 

The boy looks at him, then at the door, then back to Lucifer.

 

“Go on then” he says annoyed as his wings pop out behind him, “before I change my mind.“

 

The boy’s eyes widen as Lucifer stands, pulling his bloodied leg from the collapsed stair. The boy stands there, staring with awe – not fear – in his heart.

 

“Are you an angel?” he asks.

 

Lucifer sighs and collapses his wings as he steps into the smokey foyer near the front door.

 

“Far from it I’m afraid. Now go on,” he says.

 

“You're not coming with me?“ the boy asks.

 

"I may be the devil, but I'm no fool,“ he says, “a grown half-naked man coming out of a burning building with a strange child? No, thanks.“

 

The boy furrows his eyebrows.

 

“The Devil?“ he asks.

 

Lucifer turns to him, realizing he's not going to get rid of this child anytime soon. Humans are too curious for their own good.

 

“Yes,“ he says, shifting his devil face into existence, “Now go before I drag you to hell with me.“

 

The boy's eyes widen, and he runs out of the house, screaming.

 

The child might need therapy, but at least he won't be burned.

 

Lucifer sighs and looks down at his bloodied leg. He tilts his head as he sees the dark blood begin to drip down his shin. He furrows his eyebrows.

 

That’s odd.

 

 “Lucifer?” a woman’s voice says. He pauses. He recognizes that voice. 

 

He turns to the firey kitchen behind him.

 

“Chloe?” he asks, approaching the doorway.

 

“Lucifer, help me,” the voice says softly.

 

“Chloe!?” he screams, he runs into the kitchen just as the doorway to the kitchen collapses into a pile of firey rubble behind him.

 

“Chloe?” he asks, searching for the source of that voice.

 

The fire inside the kitchen rages, and an impossible breeze rolls through the kitchen, feeding the flames higher and higher until they engulf him. 

 

Until every inch of his body is on fire. His skin pops and crackles like kindling. He tries to smack the flames away, but they cling to him like hot glue.

 

\--

 

In his penthouse, Lucifer bolts up in bed, a hot heat crawling over his skin. He can feel it in his veins, as his body burns bright and hot from the inside out.

 

He stands up, his bed soaked in sweat. He staggers into the bathroom and heads straight for the shower, where he turns on the cold water and jumps in.

 

The water hits his body and reacts like water touching hot coals. Steam starts to billow inside the shower, and Lucifer groans, either in pain or in relief, as his body starts to cool down. He places his hands against the wall of the shower, the water cascading down his hair.

 

Lucifer closes his eyes to revel in the relief, in the moment of pause away from a fire that burns inside of him.

 

He opens his eyes slowly, only to find himself no longer in the shower, but standing inside the place in his dreams. 

 

Except, this time, he isn’t sure this is a dream.

 

He stands inside a white fog, at his feet gray and black gravel that shifts beneath him.

 

He looks around, trying to catch his bearings, but it is impossible. He can only see a few feet in front of him as everything else is covered in a thick white fog.

 

“You again?” a voice from the fog says.

 

Lucifer turns to look, only seeing movement.

 

“Why do you keep coming here Samael?” the voice says.

 

“Who are you?” Lucifer says.

 

“Are you lost, angel?” the voice says.

 

“Does he need an answer?” another voice says from behind him.

 

Lucifer spends around, “Who are you? Where am I?” he asks.

 

The voices, and the figures they belong to continue to stay out of his sight. He walks forward, thinking he can catch one of them momentarily but is only met with more thick fog. It is disorienting and all around him.

 

“Why are you here?” the voice asks.

 

He spins around, wanting to see who or what is producing that voice, but there is nothing.

 

\--

 

Inside Chloe’s bedroom, she lays fast asleep. It’s a deep, rejuvenating sleep. The kind of sleep that, despite it being a Monday, seems fitting for the weekends. 

 

Her cell phone on her bedside table begins to vibrate, and she barely stirs. The phone vibrates so much that it vibrates itself off the table and falls onto the floor. The sound of the phone hitting the carpet jolts her awake, and her eyes glance around for a moment before locking onto the still ringing phone. 

 

She reaches one arm down and pulls it up before answering it, her face still in the pillow, her mind still half asleep.

 

“Hello?” she manages to grumble out.

 

“I woke you up? Didn’t I?” Dan says on the other line.

 

She sits up, suddenly awake by the sound of his voice, and wipes the sleep from her eyes.

 

“No, no,” she lies, pretending she was awake the entire time, “I was just … laying down for a second.”

 

“Uh huh, I know your sleep sounds Chloe. You were passed out.”

 

Chloe laughs and yawns. She turns to the clock to see it reads as ten in the morning.

 

“How are you feeling?” she says, turning back to lean against the headboard of her bed.

 

“Well, I’m calling you from my bed,” he says.

 

Chloe smiles, “Yeah?”

 

“I managed to dial the numbers all by myself,” he continues.

 

She pauses.

 

“Wait, what?” she says, sitting up in her bed.

 

“Oh yeah, did I bury the lead on that one?”

 

“Dan that’s great!” she says, a smile on her face and suddenly wide awake.

 

“I still have some fine motor skill issues with my hand, but the doctor said I’m right on track. They are actually saying I might be discharged later this week.”

 

She shakes her head, “Are you sure? That seems kind of soon.”

 

“Ah, they are doctors Chloe. They know what they are doing.”

 

Chloe laughs and brushes her hair from her face. She eyes the window and stretches.

 

“How’s Trixie?” Dan asks.

 

“Oh, she’s good. She got a little sick last night, so I let her sleep in this morning.”

 

“You let her sleep in? it sounds like you let yourself sleep in too,” he says chuckling.

 

“Mm,” she says nodding, “Yeah, well I was ... tired.”

 

She hadn't slept like that in a long time. Was she really that tired? Or was it Lucifer? The line is silent for a moment as Chloe replays Lucifer’s hands on her thighs. Her heart starts to beat faster.

 

“I was hoping I could speak with Trixie,” Dan says.

 

“Hmm?” Chloe says, snapping out of that thought, “Oh.”

 

“I mean, if you’d be okay with that,” he says.

 

She shakes her head, “Why wouldn’t I be okay with that? She’s been dying to speak with you.”

 

Chloe closes her eyes tight as if she said something wrong, “Sorry, phrasing.”

 

“Chloe, you don’t have to censor yourself. It's an awkward situation for everyone, probably me more than you.”

 

She sighs and leans back against the headboard.

 

“Sorry, I’m just … yes, yes you can speak with her. I haven’t told her about your … situation yet,” she says.

 

“What? I thought you were going to tell her last night?’

 

“Yeah but, Lucifer kept her out at the fair a little late, and by the time she got home she was already so sleepy I just thought-“

 

“Lucifer kept her out late? Of course, he did. That guy has no idea what it means to be a responsible –“

 

“Dan, don’t,” Chloe says, stopping his schpeel, “Let’s not start that okay? Lucifer and Trixie had a great time yesterday, and quite frankly, it was a well-needed break. Time to just destress.”

 

Dan sighs, “Fine, but I don’t like that guy Chloe. I don’t trust him.”

 

“I know,” she says, “I’m sure he feels the same way.”

 

The line is silent again, and Dan clears his throat.

 

“So, can I talk to her?” Dan asks.

 

Chloe pauses.

 

“I have a better idea,” she says with a smile on her face, “give me time to talk to her, and maybe we’ll come visit you today?”

 

“Really?” he says, unsure if that were a good thing or bad thing.

 

“Yeah, she really misses you Dan. Besides, I think your well enough now that it won't scare her too much. It might actually help you heal.”

 

“Yeah, yeah okay,” he says excitedly.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah,” he says.

 

She smiles and leans up against the headboard.

 

“Good. I’ll see you a little after lunch?”

 

“Sounds good, see you then.”

 

She hangs up the phone and holds it to her chest. She stares out towards the window again, watching the light stream into her bedroom. 

 

Now she had to figure out how to tell Trixie. What would she tell her? 

 

\--

 

At the station, Natalie sits at her desk, reading an open file. She taps the pen against her cheek before pausing and signing her name to the bottom of the file. 

 

She closes the folder and sets it into a pile of folders on the right side of her desk. She reaches for her coffee and takes a sip before setting the cup down and reaching for a closed folder on the left side of her desk.

 

Just as she opens the folder, she hears a knock on her door and looks up to find a female detective entering her office.

 

She raises her eyebrows and smiles, “Ah, Detective Moore. What can I do for you?” she asks.

 

“I hope I’m not bothering you?” she says, entering the office.

 

Natalie reaches for her coffee cup and shakes her head.

 

“Not at all, how are you getting along with our consultant?”

 

Natalie takes a sip of her coffee.

 

“Actually,” Detective Moore says, “That’s what I’m here to talk to you about. I’ve been waiting around for two hours, and he hasn’t shown.”

 

Natalie pauses and nods her head, a slight anger building inside of her.

 

“I see,” she says, setting the cup down.

 

“Yeah, I was wondering …I mean, since I have to get some interviews out the way, if I can just go on without him and he can catch up?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “Get Officer Lee to shadow you for the day. I have a feeling Mr. Morningstar will not be working for LAPD much longer.”

 

She reaches into her desk to pull out a file with a list of phone numbers on it. She finds Lucifer Morningstar's name on the list.

 

Detective Moore nods.

 

 “Thank you,” she says before turning and leaving.

 

Natalie tightens her jaw and reaches for the phone on the desk. She angrily types in the numbers just as she hears another knock on her door. She looks up to see an officer with a stack of folders.

 

“New cases for you to assign,” he says.

 

Natalie nods and leans back in her chair, the phone receiver up to her ear.

 

“Give me one moment,” she says.

 

He nods and stands in front of her desk.

 

The phone continues to ring in her ear.

 

Lucifer’s phone goes to voicemail, and she grunts in annoyance. She hangs up the phone and turns her eye to the man in front of her.

 

“Please tell me this week is over already,” she says.

 

He smiles at her and hands her the first folder in the pile of folders in his hand.

 

“Twenty-four-year-old male. Gunshot wound to the chest. Suspected gang involvement,” he says.

 

She takes the folder and opens it. He stands there silently as she scans through the document and nods to herself. She closes it and pulls a sticky note off her desk. She writes a name on it and sets it in front of him. He looks down to see “Detective Griffin” on it.

 

He takes another file from his hand and hands it to her.

 

“Thirty-seven-year-old female. Blunt force trauma to the head. A possible burglary gone wrong.”

 

She takes the file and looks it over.

 

“Any indication of sexual assault?” she asks.

 

He nods, “We have a lab running DNA already.”

 

“This is an SVU case, why is it in my pile?” she says.

 

“Lieutenant Smith is out on vacation, he’s been offloading a few cases to other departments until he until he returns.”

 

Natalie closes her eyes and brings her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

 

“Why was I not informed about this change?”

 

“He said he sent you an email on Friday.”

 

She shakes her head and sighs, “Must be nice to just get someone else to do your job for you. Fine Just … just give it to Grier. He’ll sort it out.”

 

He nods, picks up the folders, and leaves. He exits Natalie’s office, walks a few steps down the hall and opens the door to Ella’s Lab.

 

Ella is busy flipping through images on her tablet when she hears the door open. She turns to see him and smiles.

 

“Got another case for me?” she says, setting the tablet in her hand down and approaching him.

 

He nods and hands her a file.

 

“Fourty-two-year-old male, possibly anaphylactic shock. You know how these things go.”

 

“You need to rule out murder,” she says, nodding and browsing the file.

 

He nods, “It’s a pretty shut and close case. You’ll be done by the end of the day.”

 

Ella smiles and turns back to her tablet, “You don’t hear me complaining, do you?”

 

He laughs. His smile falls, and he turns to leave the lab.

 

“I just want to give you a heads up,” he says, reaching for the door, “It’s a pretty messy scene. Bring gloves. Lots of them.”

 

“Always do,” she says with a smile. 

 

\--

 

Back in Natalie’s office, she sits at her desk, reading over files. She again reaches for her cup of coffee and goes to take a sip until she realizes its empty.

 

She sighs and shakes her head. She needed more coffee.

 

She stands up, stretches, then grabs the cup and heads out of her office and down the hall to the break area. There, she reaches for the coffee pot and flips the switch to heat it up. She pours her cream and sugar in first and stands there, waiting. She watches the coffee pot as it heats up and turns her eyes out to the station. 

 

It was a lot of work, but she can see the results of her labor. Closed cases percentages were going up, and the D.A was no longer a “recent call” on her phone directory. She might turn this precinct around after all, despite a few hiccups. 

 

Still, she was exhausted. The only saving grace was the weekends when she could get all the tension out of her body. She smiles to herself thinking about it. Perhaps she deserved a mid-week interlude this time around?

 

The coffee pot clicks, and she grabs it before pouring the hot coffee into her cup. She sets the pot back and grabs a stirring straw nearby and stirs her coffee. She stirs it for a few seconds before taking the stirrer out and sipping it. 

 

“Mm,” she says, almost burning her lip on it. It was piping hot and perfect. 

 

She tosses the straw into the garbage and turns to leave the break area.

 

Natalie straightens her skirt as she walks towards her office. Her eyes slowly scan the precinct as she walks, and she stops dead in her tracks as she sees a familiar form coming down the steps to the station. 

 

It’s Liz. 

 

Her eyes widen, and her heart begins to palpitate.

 

She looks just as Natalie remembers. She wears a power suit now instead of an outfit fit for Sunday service, but even the suit doesn’t help to make her seem less appealing. There is a softness there, a kindness behind her eyes that makes Natalie feel a familiar pang of longing. Then panic sets in as her brain realizes what she is seeing. 

 

Liz is here. 

 

Why is Liz here?

 

She wasn’t ready for this. She didn’t have time to process it all. She needed to be …distant and cold and unphased, but the way she is looking at Liz it’s easy to see she can’t be any of that right now.

 

She quickly turns her eyes to Ella’s lab and without thought ducks into the lab and shuts the door behind her.

 

Behind her, Ella is busy grabbing swabs and gloves out of a drawer. She turns to the lab table where her open forensic case sits, only to see Natalie pressed up against the door.

 

“Lieutenant?” she asks, surprised to see her.

 

Natalie turns and sees Ella, then turns to see Liz at the bottom of the stairs to the precinct. Liz is talking to an officer who points to Natalie’s office.

 

Natalie turns to her office where she can clearly see an unobstructed view of the lab. If Liz enters her office, even for a brief second, she will see Natalie in Ella’s lab.

 

 _Shit, shit shit_ , her brain thinks.

 

Natalie quickly moves to the end of the lab table and sets the coffee down on a manila folder before squatting behind it. 

 

Ella looks like a deer in headlights, plastic-covered swabs in hand, trying to figure out what the _fuck_  is going on.

 

“Uh, everything okay?” she asks.

 

Natalie peeps over the edge of the table to see Liz approaching her office. Natalie eyes a cubby under the table and quickly moves to tuck herself under the table; clear of any visibility from her office or the front door to Ella's lab. 

 

Ella stands there, feeling an odd sense of Deja Vu.

 

“I have no idea what is going on right now,” Ella says, “and I am both confused and terrified.”

 

Natalie looks up at her, realizing how silly she looks; how  _weak_  she looks. She closes her eyes, also realizing she has no option. It was either this or confront Liz. She didn’t have the energy to do that now. She just … needed more time. 

 

“I … I’m just … I’m not here,” she says.

 

Ella turns just as a beautiful woman in a suit enters Natalie’s office. She looks around for a moment and catches Ella’s eyes. She smiles briefly and moves to sit in a chair in Natalie’s office.

 

Ella looks intrigued and confused. The Lieutenant didn’t seem like the type to run away from a fight, yet alone from a woman who looks …well, entirely approachable.

 

“Who is she?” Ella asks, trying to put two and two together.

 

There is a tense silence there. Ella looks down at Natalie, who stares out into nothingness. Natalie’s eyes lock onto Ella’s, the implication behind them being that it was none of her business. Ella looks at her, raising her eyebrows.

 

“You are under  _my_ desk right now, I think it’s a fair question to ask.”

 

Natalie sighs and closes her eyes tightly.

 

“My ex,” she says, opening them and staring out into nothing.

 

 “Oh,” Ella says, learning something new about Natalie.

 

She turns back to the woman in her office, and suddenly it clicks.

 

“Oh!” she says, “Okay, see, now we’re on the same page. Hide all you want boss lady.”

 

“I’m not  _hiding_ ,” Natalie says back.

 

Ella looks at her as if Natalie should rethink what she just said.

 

Natalie shakes her head as if she feels stupid, “She’s getting married, and I just … I need more time to  _think_.”

 

“So, you  _do_  have a kryptonite,” Ella says jokingly.

 

Natalie looks up at her, the rigidity in her eyes indicating she doesn’t find this funny.

 

“Oh come on, you have to admit  _this,”_  Ella says,motioning to Natalie hiding under her desk, _“_  is a bit funny.”

 

Natalie scoffs and turns her head forward, “I feel like a fucking idiot. Hiding under a desk from a woman.”

 

She lowers her head into her knees. Trying hard to stave off the embarrassment, the shame, the grief.

 

Ella sighs and turns back to the open drawer to pull empty evidence bags, “I get it dawg. Heartbreak is tough.”

 

Suddenly the door to Ella’s lab opens, and Maze enters. Ella looks up, surprised to see her.

 

“Maze!” she says.

 

Maze nods to her and approaches the table before setting both hands on it, spread apart.

 

“Okay, so I thought about it, and I think we should get Army Defeat II.”

 

Ella furrows her eyebrows.

 

“The game?” she says.

 

Maze nods.

 

“Battle War is fun, but I heard Army Defeat II is like super intense. I mean, blood, gore… the whole thing. I saw a video of some kid playing it online, and he severed a guy's head with a shovel. _A shovel_.”

 

“Okay,” Ella laughs. She finds it amusing how much interest Maze is placing into these games.

 

“Great, so I’ll pick it up and be at your place tonight then? It’s a two-person game, so we can probably get through a good chunk of it if we start early.”

 

“Uh yeah,” Ella says shrugging, “Sounds good. I’ll text you and let you know when I’m there. I want to stay and finish a few reports before I leave today.”

 

“What?” 

 

“Yeah, I’m just a little busy here at work,” Ella says turning to grab more swabs from the drawer.

 

Maze rolls her eyes, “Come on Lopez. You gotta learn to clock out.”

 

“I do clock out,” Ella says.

 

“No, you don’t. If you had clocked out the other night, I wouldn’t have fallen asleep on you.”

 

Ella shifts uncomfortably, knowing Natalie is sitting right below the desk.

 

“I _like_  my job, Maze. What can I say,” she says, trying to tell her to shut up with her eyes.

 

“Maybe a bit too much,” Maze says, “I mean you ignored this…”

 

She spins around and waves a hand down her body.

 

”To talk about a case, and you don’t see that as an issue,” she finishes.

 

“Maybe we should talk about this later?” Ella says, seeing where the conversation is going and not wanting it to go there.

 

“Sure, whatever. I’m just saying.  _You_  were the one that begged for a second chance.”  

 

Ella laughs nervously, “You’re so funny! You’re such a joker, “she says, her eyes again trying to indicate that Maze shut. the. fuck. up.

 

Maze looks at her, scans her up and down.

 

“What are you not telling me?” she asks.

 

“Nothing,” she says, “I just … I’m in work mode. You know, so can we talk about this later?”

 

Maze looks at her oddly, not quite believing her story.

 

“Fine,” she says, still wary, “but we are still on for tonight, right?”

 

“Sure, yes,” Ella says, wanting to get Maze out of her lab, lest she spill more details about their affair.

 

Maze nods, her eyes still looking at Ella suspiciously. She shakes her head and crosses her arms.

 

 “See, I told you you’d regret it. Now I get why they say not to fuck your friends.”

 

“Maze!” Ella says a redness developing on her face, “please just … stop talking.”

 

Maze chuckles and turns to leave.

 

“I told you Lopez!” she says as she leaves.

 

Maze exits the lab, and Ella sits there, idly adjusting the plastic wraps in her forensic case. She stares forward, an intense embarrassment and fear stuck to her body.   

 

The lab is silent, so silent she can hear the hum of a sleeping computer nearby.

 

“Is she still there?” Natalie asks from beneath the desk.

 

Ella looks down to see Natalie trying to peek past Ella into her office. She turns to Natalie’s office to see Liz still sitting there. Liz looks at her watch and turns back to the open door of Natalie’s office. She turns to see Ella looking at her. Ella lowers her eyes and continues to adjust the packaging.

 

“Yes,” she says, clearing her throat.

 

The lab is silent again. Ella looks back up to Natalie’s office to see the woman stand and exit. She walks along the windows until Ella realizes she’s coming to the lab.

 

“Oh no,” she says.

 

“What?” Natalie says, not liking the way that sounds.

 

“She’s coming in-“

 

The door opens, and Liz pokes her head in.

 

“Hey,” she says politely.

 

“Hi,” Ella says, trying to clear the nervousness in her voice. 

 

“I uhm, I came to speak with your Lieutenant, but it looks like she is not in her office. She’s an old friend. Any idea of where she is or when she will come back?” Liz asks.

 

“I uhm … Nope,” Ella says, shaking her head, “I’m just forensics … I don’t keep track of those things, unfortunately but if you need me to test a body I can help you with that.”

 

Liz looks at her oddly and narrows her eyes, “I … I think I’m good at the moment. I'll take a rain check?”

 

“Right,” Ella says nodding, realizing how awkward that sounded.

 

Liz steps into the lab and reaches into her purse, “Well, I was hoping to catch her, but I have to get back to my office. When she comes in, can you make sure she gets this? I wanted to deliver it to her in person but …well, I guess its busy here,” she says laughing.

 

Liz pulls out a folded white envelope with the name “Nat” written on it.  She hands it to Ella.

 

Ella accepts it and turns it over to see it sealed with a light pink wax seal.

 

“It’s a wedding invitation,” Liza says happily before flashing her ring.

 

“Oh,” Ella says, “congratulations.”

 

“Thanks,” Liz says smiling.

 

She looks around the lab for a moment, looking at her surroundings.

 

"Yeah," Ella says, "Sorry you missed her but, she's constantly moving around. Can't keep her still."

 

Liz smiles, "I bet."

 

"Ever since she joined the precinct, it's been just ... it's been great. Nothing but excellence. She's a real ... team player."

 

Liz laughs to herself.

 

"She is ... _intense."_

 

Ella pauses.

 

"Yes, yes, she is. I’m sorry, where are my manners,” Ella says, extending her hand, “I’m Ella.”

 

Liz looks at Ella’s extended hand, then at Ella. 

 

“Elizabeth,” she says with a smile on her face.

 

“Well, I’ll make sure she gets it, Elizabeth,” Ella says.

 

Liz nods and smiles, “Thank you,” she says before turning and approaching the door.

 

Below the desk, Natalie raises her hands to her face as if she can't believe that conversation just happened.

 

"Oh, one more thing," Ella says.

 

Liz turns around.

 

Ella waves the invitation in her hand, "She has a plus one, right?? I mean she's not here, but I'd like to think we are good friends. I wouldn't want her to not be able to take her girlfriend."

 

Liz pauses as if she is shocked to hear that.

 

"Girlfriend?" she asks.

 

Natalie lowers her hands and looks up at Ella. 

 

_What the fuck is she doing?_

 

"Yeah, in fact, I think she should be back soon if you want to stay. They usually go to lunch around this time and should be back soon."

 

Natalie reaches out and grabs onto Ella's foot to get her attention. Ella kicks her hand away.

 

Liz looks at her watch.

 

"I'm already going to be late for a deposition," she says, "maybe ... maybe next time."

 

Ella shrugs, "Alright."

 

Liz pauses, "I'm sorry, what is your name again?"

 

"Ella," she says.

 

Liz nods, "Right, well it was nice to meet you Ella."

 

Ella nods and waves, "Safe travels."

 

Liz turns and leaves the lab. Ella watches as she walks through the bullpen floor and starts to climb the stairs to leave.

 

“She’s actually really nice,” Ella says.

 

“Is she gone?” Natalie asks.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Natalie reaches forward and pulls herself from the cubby hole to peek over the edge of the table. She watches as Liz climbs the last few steps to leave the station before standing and adjusting her skirt. 

 

"I think that went well," Ella says, holding out the invitation to Natalie.

 

Natalie looks down and accepts it before realizing what just happened.

 

"What the _hell_ was that Lopez?" she says.

 

"What?"

 

"Telling her I have a girlfriend? you don't know that!"

 

"Oh, come on, it's clear you don't, but rule number one of making the ex feel jealous is not letting them know how you haven't moved on."

 

"I have moved on," Natalie lies.

 

Ella looks at her as if she doesn't believe that.

 

" _Please_ , you were hiding under my desk like a child afraid of the dark."

 

Natalie narrows her eyes, "I was not."

 

"Dude!" Ella says.

 

Natalie holds her hands out, "Okay, I ... accept I may have acted out of character but … you know what, stay out of my personal life Lopez. Okay? You don't mention anything else about me hiding under your desk, and I won't write you up for sleeping with the bounty hunter."

 

Ella raises her eyebrows, "Oh, so we are going there," she says.

 

Natalie nods, "Yes. Yes, we are."

 

Ella shakes her head and crosses her arms, "Okay, fine. Forget I asked."

 

Natalie nods, straightens her skirt again and heads towards the door. Behind her, Ella's stance softens and she uncrosses her arms.

 

"Aww," she says in a high-pitched voice.

 

Natalie narrows her eyes and turns around.

 

"Our first fight," she says.

 

Natalie raises her eyebrows and tilts her head in confusion. She scoffs then turns and leaves.

 

Ella stands there for a second, thinking about what just happened. Turns out the grinch did have a heart, a broken one. She narrows her eyes and nods. She knew exactly how to fix a broken heart.

 

The door reopens, and Natalie enters again.

 

“I forgot my coffee,” she says, pointing to the cup sat on a stack of folders.

 

Natalie reaches for the coffee and accidentally knocks a few drops on the folder below.

 

“Oh, shoot,” she says, grabbing the folder quickly and trying to shake the coffee off if it.

 

“You’re flustered,” Ella says, “I get it.”

 

Ella reaches her hand out, and Natalie hands her the folder.

 

Ella grabs a tissue off the desk nearby and begins to wipe the folder down. Natalie watches her for a second then turns to leave.

 

She pauses at the door, suddenly feeling guilty about her behavior. She closes her eyes tightly as if having a personal battle inside her head. Liz always brought out the worst in her.

 

She clears her throat and turns back around, slowly approaching the lab table.

 

“My apologies for … making your lab weird,” Natalie says.

 

“Oh trust me, that is the _least_ weird thing that has happened in here.”

 

Natalie narrows her eyes and decides she doesn’t want to know.

 

“I uhm ... I would caution you against developing relationships with coworkers Lopez. It ... never ends well,” she says.

 

Ella nods, "Oh, Maze and I aren't dating or anything. It was a one-time thing. We're just friends."

 

"Mm," Natalie says, nodding, "still, my advice stands."

 

She turns to leave again.

 

"So, you're not going to write me up?" Ella asks.

 

"You are exceptional at your job, Ms. Lopez,“ she says turning around to face Ella, “You show up on time, you go above and beyond your job duties, people really like you, and given the contents of a conversation I _should not_ have heard, you forgo your own personal desires for the benefit of our precinct."

 

Natalie looks off in the distance for a moment, it reminds her of herself. Of why Liz left. 

 

Her eyes go back to Ella, who still waits for an answer.

 

"I would be a fool to punish an asset like you for something that you've done a decent enough job of hiding. As long as you can promise me your professionalism or Ms. Smith's professionalism won't be hindered-"

 

"What professionalism? You’ve seen the way she handles the bad guys, right?" she says.

 

Natalie chuckles beneath her breath and nods.

 

"Still, I would caution you against workplace romance."

 

Ella nods, and they stand there in silence.

 

"So, you _are_ going to the wedding, right?"

 

Natalie looks at her then takes a sip of her coffee.

 

"I'll let you get back to work," she says.

 

"I’m not done with you boss lady. I know your kryptonite.”

 

Natalie rolls her eyes as she leaves, this time for good as she goes back into her office and takes a seat.

 

Ella reaches for the folder with a coffee stain on it.

 

She has no idea what just happened, but one thing is for sure … The Lieutenant is a secret softie. Now that she knew how to get past that hard shell, it was going to be a one-way trip to friendship city.

 

\--

 

Amenadiel lands on the balcony of Lucifer’s penthouse. He collapses his wings behind him and walks forward towards the door to the balcony. He reaches out to slide it open, but the door doesn’t budge. It’s locked.

 

Amenadiel sighs.

 

“Luci!” he yells through the glass window. 

 

He peeps into the living room and sees it empty.

 

“Come on, you know you can’t lock me completely out,” he says.

 

His eyes peer towards the steps, and he can just make out the bathroom door being open.

 

His eyes drift down, and he sees a puddle of water by the open bathroom door. He narrows his eyes and turns to approach the side of the balcony with a view into Lucifer’s bedroom.

 

The second he crosses the threshold to see into his bedroom, he comes eye to eye with a statuesque Lucifer. Lucifer just stands there, water puddled at his feet in damp boxer briefs. His eyes are a solid white, and he stares out into nothing. He doesn’t see Amenadiel, nor the city skyline, but something else.

 

Amenadiel stares at him, taking in the scene; taking in everything.

Goosebumps form on Lucifer’s skin, and his hair sits disheveled on his head. It is clear at one point he was soaking wet, but not anymore. He has clearly been standing here for quite some time.

 

Amenadiel stills his breath and closes his eyes. When he opens them, he is inside Lucifer’s bedroom and standing next to him. It is now he can clearly hear the sound of the shower still running behind him. His eyes trail down to the puddles of water left in Lucifer’s wake. The penthouse is absolutely freezing. The A.C. feels like it is blasting pure ice.

 

“Luci?” he asks, his voice gentle.

 

Lucifer doesn’t respond. He just stares out into the distance.

 

“Lucifer?” Amenadiel says again, this time louder and with resonation.

 

Lucifer suddenly spins around, facing Amenadiel’s direction, his eyes still white.

 

“Who are you?” he asks, a pang of terror in his voice.

 

“Luci, I’m your brother,” he says confused.

 

Lucifer spins around again, this time facing away from Amenadiel.

 

“Why are you hiding?” he asks, “Show yourself!”

 

Amenadiel realizes that Lucifer is talking to him, rather he is talking to whoever he is seeing.

 

“Lucifer!” Amenadiel says, reaching out a hand and laying it on Lucifer’s shoulder.

 

Despite the goosebumps forming on his skin, and the water at his feet, his skin is hot to touch.

 

Lucifer turns around and locks eyes with Amenadiel. Slowly the white in his eyes dissipates and turns brown. He looks over Amenadiel for a moment, then down at the puddle of water at his feet. He turns to the bathroom and hears the shower still going.

 

 _Where had he just been?_  Was that a dream or …

 

He turns to Amenadiel, the realization behind his eyes that this must all look odd. His body shivers, despite being hot to touch.

 

He moves to sit on a nearby chair as if the weight of what is happening is suddenly hitting him.

 

 “Luci, what was that?” Amenadiel asks, his brain going a minute a mile with questions about what he just saw. 

 

Where was Lucifer? 

 

Who was he talking to? 

 

Why were his eyes white?

 

“I … I was in the shower,” Lucifer starts to mumble to himself. He leans forward and runs his hand through his damp hair. 

 

The heat from the fabric of the chair warms his body even more, and he jumps himself off of it, the back of his legs starting to burn.

 

“Lucifer, your eyes were …,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer turns to him, an annoyance in his voice.

 

“Say it,” he says, “I know you want to say it. You’ve been dying to say it.”

 

“and who were you talking to?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“Go on then!,” Lucifer says, “You’ve been eager to prove me wrong since you came back from the Silver City. Wanting to be Daddy’s little boy.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “and your skin. How can you have goosebumps and be so –“

 

“Bloody Hell, just tell me ‘I told you so’ already Amenadiel! So I can go on with my day,” he says, crossing into his closet.

 

Amenadiel looks at him oddly. It is clear he is taking no joy in this.

 

“Lucifer, this isn’t something to make light of. You can no longer deny the truth of what Father said. The prophecy is true.”

 

“I know!” he yells from his closet as he tosses the damp underwear into the laundry basket.

 

He reaches into his drawer and pulls out a dry pair before slipping it on.

 

“Don’t you think I know?” he asks, stepping out of his closet, the elastic band of his underwear snapping around his waist.

 

Even _this_  fabric begins to heat his body.

 

“My mojo is gone, my skin is burning up, I’m hungry  _all the time_ , I can’t sleep without waking up  _covered_  in sweat. And,  _and_ , here’s the real kicker… my erections? I might as well be a  _bloody_  eunuch.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, not really needing to have known that last tidbit.

 

“Lucifer, I tried,” he says, “I tried to warn you. To stop whatever is happening.”

 

Lucifer sighs and goes back into his closet and pulls a pair of long black slacks from the dresser.

 

“You’re a pawn Amenadiel,” he says, a tinge of anger in his voice.

 

He slides his legs into the pants and walks back into his bedroom as he buttons them.

 

“Perhaps, we all are. Perhaps all we are to him are pawns. Pieces to move to get him closer to his great plan. How does he think it feels? To be told our existence is only for his benefit? To do as he pleases, whenever he pleases.”

 

Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows. Father would never say something like that.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “It is  _my_  body Amenadiel! How does he thinks it feels when I can’t even perform for the  _one_  woman I … “

 

Lucifer begins to breathe heavily, an anger building in his veins, “He’s a heartless jackass whose only interest is himself and his desires!”

 

Amenadiel pauses.  _Who are we talking about here again?_

 

Lucifer finishes buttoning his pants and stands there.

 

“Face it,” he says,” we’re as much his playthings as the mortals.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “I … I’m angry at him for misleading me, but I know he loves us more than that. I have to believe we mean more than that to him.”

 

Lucifer scoffs as he shifts uncomfortably in his pants.

 

“How strong must your Stockholm syndrome be that even now, in the face of the truth, you still defend him?”

 

Suddenly, the heat is too much, and Lucifer can’t take it anymore. He reaches down to unbutton his pants. He quickly steps out of them and kicks the pants to the side. Amenadiel raises an eyebrow at him.

 

He reaches down and peels the underwear off his skin before tossing that aside again. He stands stark naked in his bedroom.

Amenadiel doesn’t seem phased by Lucifer’s nudity, almost as if he’s seen him way too many times to be embarrassed by it anymore.

 

Amenadiel narrows his eyes and nods as if thinking. 

 

“I’m burning up!” Lucifer says, “From the inside out. My body feels like a furnace. How am I supposed to go to work when every piece of cloth that touches my skin makes me feel like I’m on fire?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel remembers why he came to Lucifer’s penthouse in the first place.

 

“We may have a bigger problem than your wardrobe,” Amenadiel says.

 

“I know, brother. I’ve read the memo at this point. I’m changing. To what I don’t rightly know but … I can say this. It is unpleasant, and you and I need to figure out how to stop it, or at least slow it down.”

 

Amenadiel opens his mouth to say something then pauses.

 

“Wait, you and I? If I remember correctly, you were upset when I tried to help you.”

 

“You certainly have a strange definition of _help_ , Amenadiel,” Lucifer says, still standing nude in his bedroom, “Either way, that was  _before_  I had any real evidence to suggest that you were correct. I can no longer deny there may be truth to this prophecy. Therefore, we must attempt to subvert it. Honestly, you should know the routine by now.”

 

Amenadiel rolls his eyes, “You know, as much as you complain about the way father handles things. I can’t help but notice much of your complaints seem to be things you do yourself.”

 

Lucifer looks at him. His eyes narrow.

 

“What are you suggesting?” he asks.

 

“You’re a hypocrite. You were so ready to dismiss me, but now that you need my assistance, suddenly I’m important to you again. Remind you of anyone?”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Oh. So we’re going to make this about you?”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “No, we’re going to make this about Daniel, because that is why I am here.”

 

Lucifer turns and enters his closet to find something he can wear that won’t make him feel like he may pass out from a heat stroke.

 

“I’m not interested in being a part of your penance,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “See? You haven’t even heard what I have to say, and already you’re being selfish.”

 

“Selfish?” Lucifer says as he exits the closet, “Selfish? I don’t recall it being  _you_ they cast away to hell? Made a pariah? Primed your name for the world to paint you a villain? The Prince of Lies? The King of Evil?”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “You know that’s not what happened.”

 

“That’s exactly what happened!” he yells, his body starting to heat up more as the red flare in his eyes ignites and seemingly ignites a fire throughout his body as well. His veins begin to glow.

 

Amenadiel pauses and steps back, his eyes wide with shock.

 

“Maybe I am selfish,” he says nodding, "but if I am selfish it is because no one else _cared_  to defend me. For a millennia I was the  _only_  one in my own corner, so  _excuse me_ if old habits are hard to break.”

 

They stare at one another. Lucifer shakes his head, as if it suddenly dawns on him. The fire in his veins dies down, as does the fire in his eyes.

 

“I will always be a monster to you, won’t I? The world will always only see the devil.”

 

“Luci…” he says.

 

“Spare me, brother,” he says sadly, going back into his closet.

 

Amenadiel stands there in silence. He lets go a deep sigh. 

 

The air is cold but thick with tension. He closes his eyes and crosses his arms.

 

“I know we have a … turbulent relationship,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer doesn’t say anything, only scoffs from the comfort of his closet.

 

“We clearly have different opinions about what happened, and we will fight about that to the bitter end no doubt, but I am not here for me or you. I’m here for Daniel.”

 

“I’m still not interested in your heavy heart,” Lucifer says from the closet as Amenadiel hears the sound of hangers shuffling about.

 

“He’s soul-sick,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer pauses. There is a silence in the closet before slowly exits the closet, still stark naked and holding a linen shirt.

 

“Soul sick?” he asks, as if wanting to make sure he hears that correctly.

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

“Either he’s been reaped, or his soul hasn’t returned from hell or heaven-,”

 

“Oh, let’s not pretend we don’t know where he was destined for brother,” Lucifer says.

 

“So either it may be stuck somewhere between worlds, which as you know is almost impossible since the implementation of our waiting rooms, or-“

 

“or he’s been reaped,” Lucifer nods and narrows his eyes, “Crossroad demons sure know how to pick them.”

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

“You know what happens if we don’t find his soul soon,” he says.

 

 “Mm,” Lucifer nods, running through every possible instance in his head. Anything easier than dealing with a reaped soul, “Are you sure? Are you sure he’s soul sick?”

 

“I know what I saw.”

 

“Yes, but did you verify?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “The feather burned onto his skin, Luci. I don’t need any more verification.”

 

Lucifer steps forward, and anger returning to his eyes but more so impatience; annoyance. 

 

“Need I remind you, brother that this is all your doing? If you had done what I asked from the beginning, we wouldn’t be in this mess. So, if you expect me to  _break_  a demon’s contract, you better know for a  _fact_  that he is soul-sick.”

 

Amenadiel nods, his jaw clenched as if he wants to say something but decides against it, “I didn’t ask you to break a contract.”

 

“But you know I will,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel nods, “I know.”

 

Lucifer nods and turns back to his closet.

 

“Good. Now onto yet another thing I never thought I’d say. Help me find something to wear.”

 

\--

 

At an apartment complex in the city, Ella steps outside of an elevator into a long hallway. 

 

Down the hallway, a group of officers stands speaking in low tones.

 

One of them sees Ella step out of the elevator and waves.

 

“Lopez!” he says.

 

She turns to him, and he waves her over.

 

She smiles and struts over to the group, her suitcase of supplies rolling behind her.

 

“Am I missing a party?” she asks.

 

“We’re making a wager on how long this poor saps been dead before anyone noticed. I’m guessing for two days.”

 

“That’s a very convenient guess for a weekend death,” she says, her eyebrows furrowed. Not at all enjoying this game.

 

He shrugs. She turns her head to an open doorway covered by police tape.

 

“Go on in,” he says, reaching forward and lifting the tape for her. 

 

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a mask before slipping it around her neck.

 

She nods and slips underneath the tape to enter the apartment.

She is immediately hit with the smell of rancid bodily fluids slips on the mask around her neck. Then, she sets the suitcase on its side in the living room.

 

There, she reaches into her pocket and slips on a pair of blue latex gloves. She steps forward and peeks into the kitchen, then turns to glance down the small hallway that leads to a closed door and an open door.

 

“Where’s the body?” she asks, turning back to the door.

 

 The group of officers look at her, and one points down the hall.

 

“Bedroom, first door on the right.”

 

She nods and slips the second glove onto her hands before kneeling and popping the case open. She stands and walks down the hallway to the open door. 

 

She enters the door and pauses as she stares down at a floor full of vomit and a still and cold looking man laying face down on the ground. His face has been partially eaten, but it’s clear this man has been here for far longer than a day. 

 

“Oh, buddy,” she says, a sympathetic tone to her voice. 

 

She kneels down at the door and glances around the room for a moment.

 

“What did you get yourself into?”

 

She turns her eyes back to his body. Part of his face is gone, but she can still see the signs of inflammation and swelling on his hands. She tilts her head and notices the blue and purple patch on his neck, no doubt a rash at the time of death.

 

This was clearly the result of an allergic reaction.

 

Judging by the skin tone and how clean – minus the vomit – the area is, she deduces he couldn’t have been here for long. Three days tops. She’d need more information to verify the time of death, though. 

 

She looks around the room one more time for evidence of foul play, anything to suggest she should be here instead of some regular forensics team. 

 

There is nothing.

 

She pauses and turns and heads back to the living room. She looks at the group of officers again.

 

“What is going on with his face?” she asks.

 

“He has a cat,” the man says, “We locked the little cannibal in the bathroom.”

 

Ella nods, “That’ll do it.”

 

Ella turns and opens her suitcase before taking out a few swabs, an empty syringe, a few evidence bags, and a big red bin labeled “biological material.” She turns and enters the bedroom before setting the plastic-covered samples on the floor near her. She then opens the red container and places it on the ground.

 

 It has two sides to it, one side is a tray of empty slots for tubes, the other has a red bag with a hazard symbol on it. She takes a swab container, unwraps the plastic, and slips the cotton swab from its hard-plastic container. 

 

Then she kneels forward and swabs a bit of the vomit before putting it back into the container, sealing it and setting it in the red bin on the side with the tube holders.

 

Then she reaches for the syringe, unwraps it, uncovers the tip and scoots forward, working hard not to step in vomit or anything else that may have leaked out. She carefully leans forward, brushes the little hair on his head aside, and jams the needle into his jugular before pulling rich, dark and thick old blood from his skin.

 

“Don’t worry,” she says as she pulls harder to suck the thick blood into the syringe, “I’m sure they’ll find a nice quiet place to put you.”

 

She turns and carefully steps away.

 

“You’ll be fine,” she says, turning back to the guy, “we all have our time, you know?”

 

She pauses as if expecting an answer. There is none, obviously.

 

Behind her, she hears a thud. She turns around and steps into the hallway before she stares down the hall towards the closed door. She tilts her head, curiously.

 

She pulls out the needle from the syringe and seals the tip with a plastic cap before tossing the used needle into a red plastic bag inside the bin and setting the syringe carefully into a tube receptacle.

 

She closes the bin and leaves it there before standing and exiting the bedroom.

 

She turns down the hallway and approaches the door.

 

She turns the knob and slowly opens the door. Then, she peeps her head in and turns to see a small gray and white cat lapping at an almost empty bowl of water.

 

“Awww,” she says, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind her.

 

“You must be the little scavenger.”

 

The cat laps at the water then turns to her.

 

She crouches on her knees and holds out her hand. It willingly walks over to her and starts to purr against her.

 

“You were just hungry, huh?” she says. 

 

It continues to purr, and she pets him. She looks up in the bathroom and takes inventory of her surroundings. This apartment was very well put together. There was no sign of forced entry, and from the very little she could tell from the body, there were no signs of defensive wounds.

 

“Your daddy had an accident,” she says to the cat,” I hope they are going to find you a nice home.”

 

 It continues to purr in her lap. She looks up towards the empty water bowl.

 

“You thirsty little guy?” she asks. 

 

The cat continues to purr in her hands, and she smiles. She stands up and reaches down to slip her gloves off before balling them up and tossing them into a nearby trashcan.

 

“I got you,” she says as she leans down and picks the bowl up before taking it over to the sink.

 

She turns on the faucet and washes the dish out briefly before filling it with water. She shuts the sink off and kneels down, placing the bowl of water back on the ground. The cat thanks her by happily lapping at the water.

 

She smiles and stands while watching it. She turns to catch herself in the mirror, and her eyes fall onto the latch of the medicine cabinet behind it. The file said anaphylaxis, but that hadn’t been verified yet. He could have had some fatal reaction between medicines. Still wouldn’t qualify as murder, but … forensics is forensics.

 

 “Let’s see what medicine your daddy was taking, yeah?” she says as she reaches over and unlatches the cabinet. 

 

She swings it open and is faced with an assortment of toiletries.

Eyedrops, hemorrhoid cream, a box of condoms.

 

“Hmm,” she says, reaching into her pocket to pull out another pair of gloves. She snaps them on and reaches forward to grab the box of condoms.

 

She peeks into it. 

 

Three left.

 

“Lucky guy,” she says, looking at the cat as it starts to lick itself.

 

“You’re right, totally inappropriate,” she says. 

 

She tosses the box into the sink and pulls out a bottle of pills. It is antibiotics with only a few days left.

 

“Huh,” she says. 

 

She turns and opens the bathroom door before gently shutting it behind her. She walks into the living room to her case of supplies and pulls out an evidence bag. 

 

She slips the antibiotics into the bag and seals it. Then, she grabs three more empty bags and turns to head back to the bathroom. She briefly looks into the bedroom again as she passes.

 

She re-enters the bathroom, shuts the door behind her, and looks down to see the cat sitting in the kitty litter.

 

“How rude of me to intrude,” she says, “But I have to do my job.”

 

She turns back to the medicine cabinet and continues to sift through it.

 

“Toothpaste, more hemorrhoid cream, Viagra …” she says before dropping the container of Viagra into a bag and sealing it. She looks up to the top row and sees a box of epi-pens, two to a pack.

 

“So he  _did_  have allergies,” she says as she reaches forward and grabs the box. 

 

Certainly, allergies fatal enough to warrant epi-pens.

 

She is shocked to find the box lighter than she expected. She opens the box to confirm it is empty. She furrows her eyebrows.

 

Why would he keep an empty box of epi-pens in his apartment? She flips the box over and reads the label.

 

“Huh,” she says.

 

She turns to the cat, “That certainly  _is_  curious,” she says.

 

The cat just looks up at her, almost telling her to avert her eyes.

 

She drops the empty box into an evidence bag and seals it.

 

The cat, done with its business, starts to scratch at the cat litter before hopping out and going back to its position at the bowl.

 

Ella continues to go through his cabinet. She tosses toothpaste and other random and not at all important items into the sink.

 

If he were taking antibiotics and Viagra, there is a possibility it may have interacted poorly with one another. Especially if he were drinking or taking any other supplements. She’d need to test the sample of his stomach contents to confirm.

 

She turns to see the cat licking itself again.

 

She narrows her eyes. The cat did eat part of its owners’ face. Perhaps it might not be so horrible to get a sample of the cat’s stool as well.

 

She turns to the cat litter to find a freshly laid, but oddly liquid and oddly red stain.

 

She narrows her eyes and leans down into the cat litter.

 

“Huh. That’s not good.”

 

\--

 

Back at the Hospital,Lucifer and Amenadiel walk down the main hallway that leads to the ward where Dan is staying. It is good that no one is paying attention to them as they don’t do much to blend in.

 

 Amenadiel walks proudly down the hall with the same authority befitting of one of God’s Angels. Lucifer, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable and out of character. 

 

He wears a short-sleeved and loose white linen shirt with baggy linen shorts and sandals. He looks more like a dad of six gearing up to go on a Caribbean cruise than the king of hell.

 

In his hand, he holds a metal cup filled with cubes of ice. He holds it to his neck as they walk. He removes the cup from his neck momentarily and sucks a cube into his mouth.

 

“If Daniel has been reaped, “Amenadiel says, “we have to find the demon that reaped him before he is sealed. If he sealed before we can find his soul-“

 

“I know,” Lucifer says, annoyed.

 

Amenadiel looks at him oddly, then his eyes fall across his clothing. He smiles. He has jokes in his head he wants to say, but he forgoes them.

Amenadiel and Lucifer enter the ward where Dan’s room resides and are immediately met with the familiar laughter of Trixie and Chloe. 

 

Lucifer holds his arm across Amenadiel, keeping him from moving forward. He stands against a wall and peeks around the corner to see a straight glance into Dan’s room.

 

Inside, Dan smiles happily while Trixie lays in the bed with him, regaling him with a story. Chloe looks on, calm, and collected. One might say she looks happy even.

 

Lucifer watches them. His eyes dart back and forth between Chloe and Dan. 

 

They look happy, like a normal family. 

 

If he didn’t know anything about them, and despite Dan being in the hospital, one would think they  _were_  a happy family. 

 

His eyes fall as he wonders if he could ever truly make her happy. If he could ever truly provide her with all the mortal comforts she was accustomed to? Had it been too late to manage her expectations? Or were his own expectations changing?

 

“What are we waiting on?” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer turns to him, “I uhm … I think it’s best we wait until the Detective left, don’t you?”

 

“Luci, we don’t have time to wait,” he says, pushing past Lucifer and approaching the door to Dan’s room.

 

Lucifer stands in place, watching Amenadiel approach Dan’s door.

What would Lucifer say to her? Should he even bring up the night before? And what would she think when she sees him dressed like he is going to a casino in Vegas? One of the cheap ones.

 

What about the child? He momentarily thinks about how he would be greeted by Trixie. She would run to him and hug him with her nauseatingly charming smile. He smiles a bit to himself, then glances back towards the room as Amenadiel enters. 

 

Was it even his place to interfere here? Was he only holding her back from being happy?

 

Amenadiel approaches Daniel and reaches out to shake his hand. Dan smiles at him, they exchange words, and he laughs.

 

Lucifer just stands there, out of sight, the metal cup up to his neck.

 

\--

 

Inside the room, Dan pulls his arm back and pulls Trixie closer to him on the bed. She pulls out a small tablet that was tucked between her and Dan and starts to fiddle with it.

 

“Amenadiel,” Dan says, “thanks for stopping by. I haven’t had many visitors, as you can see.”

 

“I didn’t want people to worry,” Chloe says, “besides, your improvement is very new.”

 

Dan smiles, “I was kidding. I kind of like the quiet.”

 

Amenadiel nods and smiles, “I just came to check on you. How are you? How are you feeling?”

 

Dan shrugs, then smiles. 

 

“I can shrug now, so I guess that’s a step in the right direction.”

 

Amenadiel nods and laughs to himself.

 

“The doctor’s say if he keeps progressing this well, they might be able to release him before the weekend,” Chloe says, turning to Dan to confirm.

Dan nods.

 

“We still have a long road of physical therapy ahead of us,” she says, turning back to Amenadiel, “but … at least the worst is over.”

 

Amenadiel nods, “Yeah,” he says, turning back to a smiling Dan.

 

“How’s your neck?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Dan reaches back and rubs the white bandage across the back of his neck.

 

“Eh, it’s still a little stiff, but that’s to be expected. The swelling has gone down a lot, and it actually feels so much better.”

 

“Do you mind?” Amenadiel says, getting closer.

 

“Uh … sure?” he says, looking at Chloe for guidance. She doesn’t seem too perturbed by the idea.

 

Amenadiel gets a little bit closer, close enough that it catches Trixie’s attention, and she looks up at him as he gets closer to Dan.

 

Dan sits forward just enough that Amenadiel can see the bandage over the back of his neck. He cant see the wound, but the size and position of the dressing make it very clear what Is under there. 

 

Daniel shouldn’t be alive, let alone moving.

 

“Wow,” Amenadiel says, standing back, wrapping his head around the idea. He can’t help but feel like this was another test.

 

Daniel was _meant_  to be reaped. His soul was meant to be taken, and his body buried six feet beneath the ground, yet here he was, in the flesh. He was laughing and smiling and moving like nothing had happened. This  _had_ to be a celestial interference, but why?

 

Behind him, an oddly timid and still clearly uncomfortable Lucifer shuffles into the room, the metal cup still against his neck. Chloe and Dan turn to him, the look in their eyes both confused, amused, and shocked.

 

Trixie looks up as his form moves into her peripheral. Once she recognizes him, she smiles and hops off the bed. 

 

“Lucifer!” she says, peeling herself away from Dan and running to hug him.

 

She wraps her arms around him and immediately every inch of skin where her body touches heats up. He pushes her gently away, the look in his eyes a different kind of discomfort.

 

“Yes,” he says, “it is good to see you too, child.”

 

Trixie laughs at Lucifer’s behavior, almost finding a strange joy in him pretending he doesn’t like her. She climbs back into bed and lays back inside of Dan’s arms. He turns to her and smiles as she diverts her attention to the tablet.

 

Amenadiel watches Dan, the same way one might watch an animal in a zoo. There is curiosity there as well as patience. He is waiting for the façade to drop. 

 

Dan turns his glance back to Lucifer, his eyes focused on him.

“Lucifer,” he says a cordial yet somewhat hostile greeting.

 

Lucifer nods, “I am glad you are feeling better, Daniel,” he says, “Douche or not, I have to admit the thought of any ill befalling you is … rather upsetting.”

 

Daniel narrows his eyes. He isn’t sure how to take that.

 

“I …,” he says, looking at Chloe for a moment, then turning back to Lucifer, “Thank you?”

 

Lucifer nods and turns his eyes to Chloe. She smiles at him.

 

“Can I talk to you?” Chloe says to Lucifer.

 

He reluctantly nods.

 

“In private,” she follows up. 

 

He lets go of a heavy sigh, already knowing what this is about and nods again. He turns and heads back outside the door. 

 

“I’ll be right outside, okay?” Chloe says to Dan.

 

Dan nods and watches her leave and shut the door softly behind them.

Dan watches as she and Lucifer speak in low tones outside the door before his eyes turn to Amenadiel, who continues to watch him. 

 

He tilts his head in curiosity as he realizes he is being watched so intently. 

 

“So,” Amenadiel says, “how are you  _really_  feeling?”

 

“Fine,” he says, confused as to why Amenadiel is asking him this again.

 

 “I mean, as good as one could feel in the situation.”

 

Amenadiel’s eyes drop to Trixie, then turn back to Dan.

 

He steps forward, closer to the bed.

 

“I know you might not be a very … religious person, but I am,” he says.

 

Dan looks at him oddly as he gets closer.

 

“Do you … mind if I pray for you?”

 

Dan smiles and shakes his head, “not at all man, but you know … and I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but … prayers and well wishes don’t work.”

 

Amenadiel nods, “What’s the harm, right?”

 

Amenadiel gets closer and catches Trixie’s attention again. She looks up and watches as he lays a hand on Dan’s chest.

 

“Uh..” Dan starts to say, not familiar with this kind of prayer.

 

Amenadiel holds his other hand out as if to suggest he be patient. Dan and Trixie look at one another then turn to Amenadiel as he closes his eyes and stills his spirit.

 

 He stands there for what seems like forever.

Dan looks at Trixie, his eyes cocked in confusion. She giggles and turns her attention back to the tablet.

 

Amenadiel opens his eyes and stares at Daniel, his eyes not giving away his true feelings.

 

He removes his hand and backs away.

 

“That it?” Dan says.

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

“What, what kind of prayer was that?”

 

“A prayer for your soul,” Amenadiel says.

 

Dan scoffs and laughs Amenadiel off, “If you believe in that kind of thing.”

 

Amenadiel nods. He absolutely does.

 

\--

 

Outside, Chloe closes the door behind her and Lucifer. He shuffles on his feet and looks around the hall – the cup placed firmly against his neck. He doesn’t look at her. She notices his odd behavior and reaches out to grab his hand.

 

“Hey,” she says with a smile as she grabs his hand. His hand is hot, too hot for normal body temperature. She looks down at his hand and then at him.

 

“Oh, My God, Lucifer,” she says.

 

He rolls his eyes, “Again,  _Language_ , Detective.”

 

She reaches a hand out and pulls it to his neck. His neck is even hotter.

“Lucifer, you’re burning up!”

 

“Literally, and from the inside-out, unfortunately,” he says.

 

“We need to get you to –“

 

“A hospital?” he asks, “afraid I beat you to it, Detective.”

 

“Lucifer, I’m serious-“

 

“I’m  _fine_ ,” he insists, “nothing a cold pack and breathable fabric can’t fix.”

 

She looks at him, not entirely convinced as he smiles back at her with a charming smile; the metal cup still pressed up against his jugular. At least he is actually looking at her this time.

 

“So that is why you look like this?” she asks, pointing to his odd change in wardrobe.

 

 “What? You don’t like it?” he asks, reaching down and pulling the fabric away from his body, “I thought I’d try something new.”

 

She laughs and nods, “it is certainly a … change from your usual.”

 

“Yes,” he says, his smile falling, “seems I am all about change these days.”

 

They stare at each other for a moment. Chloe turns her eyes to the happenings inside the hospital room and catches Amenadiel and Dan speaking. She reaches a hand up to her neck and rubs it, a separate heat forming there.

 

“So, about last night…” she begins.

 

“I would rather not discuss it,” he says.

 

“I know,” she says, nodding and crossing her arms,” I know it was ...,”

 

What was it? Amazing? Mind-Blowing? So many words she can think of in her head right now to describe it.

 

“Dissapointing?” he asks.

 

She smiles and grabs his hand again, ignoring the fact that it feels like she is holding her hand above a grill.

 

“I had a good time,” she says.

 

He smiles, suddenly slipping into the Lucifer she’s come to know and love, “Yes, yes, you did.”

 

She rolls her eyes and turns her head away, a smile on her face.

She turns back to him, an intensity behind her eyes that he enjoys.

 

“I know you were nervous, so I was hoping ... I was thinking maybe you could come over again tonight, and we will pick up where we left off? After Trixie’s gone to sleep.”

 

He chuckles to himself, a knowing and sincere laugh.

 

“Detective, you could barely control yourself with just my tongue. I imagine you’d wake the whole building if you had me.”

 

She looks around to make sure no one heard that and steps forward, lowering her voice even more.

 

“Lucifer...” she says, chastising him for speaking so loudly.

 

He chuckles and stretches his arm to set his hand on the door frame next to her. He leans forward, tantalizingly close to her.

 

“Oh, come on, Detective,” he says, “I believe we are past the point of you being shy. I know what you sound like when you cum, Darling. Perhaps we should save the innocence for the bedroom? Though, to be honest, I think I quite like it when you pretend to not want me.”

 

She playfully slaps him on the arm and looks around.

 

He chuckles at her paranoia.

 

“Well if you’re trying to tempt me, you’re doing a bad job at it,” she says, reaching out and grabbing the loose fabric of his shirt before waving it around.

 

 It causes a small breeze to flow over his torso, and he hums into it. 

 

“Mmm,” he says, closing his eyes as he revels in the cold, but brief, wave of air across his torso.

 

“Oh, but who said I was trying?” he says, opening his eyes and locking eyes with her. 

 

She bites her lips, then clears her suddenly dry throat and steps away from him, crossing her arms. She looks up to see if anyone saw that interaction just now.

 

He lets go of an amused grunt to himself and stands up straight before taking another ice cube into his mouth.

 

“Are we still going to dinner?” she asks, trying to change the subject. To get her mind off of pulling him into an empty room right then and there.

 

He nods and crushes the ice in his mouth before swallowing.

 

“That seems more fitting of a question I should be asking you,” he says, “or did last night make you have a change of heart?”

 

She smiles, “Not the first time you told me no,” she says,” probably won’t be the last.”

 

“Oh, I intend it to be. I promise you the moment my body stops rebelling …,” he says, the look in his eyes suggesting he was telling the absolute truth. 

 

He doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence. He’s thought many times about the things he would do to her but never about the order. Never about what was first.

 

She pauses. The look in his eyes suggests says everything she needed to know and longer she stares the longer she risks falling into his arms right there.

 

She clears her throat and rubs her neck again before crossing her arms and breaking eye contact by looking down.

 

“So we  _are_  going to dinner?” she asks, daring a glance back towards him.

 

He smiles, “Mm,” he confirms, “though we’d have to find an establishment that would allow me to wear open-toed shoes.”

 

She looks down at his feet in sandals and laughs.

 

“Yes, I am glad one of us is enjoying this,” he says, taking another cube into his mouth.

 

The door opens, and Amenadiel steps out. He immediately locks eyes with Lucifer, and Lucifer remembers why they were here in the first place. Amenadiel shakes his head gravely, and Lucifer sighs. He turns back to Chloe.

 

“Well,” he says, “I’d love to stay and chat longer Darling but … well, the devil’s work is never done.”

 

He walks around her and begins to leave the ward with Amenadiel.

 

 “Wait,” she says ,” aren’t you forgetting something?”

 

They pause and turn. She stands there with her arms crossed as if not happy.

 

Lucifer looks at Amenadiel, and they both seem to not understand.

 

Lucifer turns to Chloe, “Pardon?” he asks.

 

She looks behind her to see Trixie and Dan focused on the tablet in Trixie’s hand. She then walks forward towards Lucifer.

 

“I think after last night, I deserve a  _proper_  goodbye,” she says.

 

Amenadiel smiles. Lucifer nods and holds the cup out to Amenadiel. Amenadiel takes it.

 

Lucifer approaches Chloe, his eyes locked onto hers.

 

“I truly am mortified about last night,” he says, beginning to apologize again.

 

She grabs his shirt and pulls him forward as she stands on her tippy toes. She plants a soft yet deep kiss on his lips. 

 

She pulls away from him.

 

“Call me later, okay?” she asks.

 

He nods. She smiles at him and waves to Amenadiel as she turns and heads back into the hospital room. 

 

Lucifer brings his hands up to his lips that have grown warmer than before. The feel of her mouth on his is reminiscent of eating something spicy. It burns, but it’s a good burn.

 

He turns to Amenadiel, who looks at him with a massive grin on his face.

 

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s creepy,” Lucifer says as he grabs the cup from Amenadiel hands and sticks it directly on his lips.

 

“Last night, huh?” he asks.

 

“I’d rather not discuss it,” he says.

 

“Since when do you kiss and not tell?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer looks at him with a look that insinuates he already knows the answer.

 

Amenadiel nods, not pushing it.

 

He sighs as they continue walking.

 

“So, what are we going to do about Dan?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“If he’s been reaped, it’s simple. We find the demon who reaped him and threaten him until he gives it back.”

 

“What if that doesn’t work?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“Oh, it will work,” Lucifer says, “I don’t know a single demon who would say no to me.”

 

“Well-,” he begins.

 

“Besides, Mazikeen.”

 

Amenadiel nods. They are on the same page now.

\--

 

 

Back inside the apartment, Ella is done collecting the sample and evidence she needs. She pulls her camera out of her case and hangs it around her neck. She looks up to see the officers still standing in a circle by the door.

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“Don’t mind me, just _working_ here,” she says underneath her breath.

 

She closes the case and sets it aside before walking over to the front door and turns to face the apartment before bringing the camera up and taking a few photos.

 

Then she moves into the living room, taking more detailed photos of everything. She pauses and looks at the photos to confirm they are coming out right. She notices something and looks up to the window to find it partially cracked.

 

She turns to the door, then back to the window.

 

There were no signs of forced entry, but an open window is an easy access point.

 

“Hey,” she says turning to the officers behind her.

 

They pause their conversation and turn to her.

 

“Was this window open when you got here?”

 

An officer steps into the apartment and approaches the windows.

 

“I didn’t touch it,” he says.

 

“Any of you assholes touch this window?” he says, yelling back to the officers outside.

 

They shake their heads no.

 

He turns back to Ella, “Nope.”

 

She sighs and rolls her eyes.

 

“Why wasn’t this put on the report?” she asks.

 

The officer shrugs, “I’m not the reporting officer. You gotta ask him.”

 

The man exits and joins the huddle of officers outside.

 

Ella shakes her head and takes a photo of the window up close.

 

The lowers the camera and kneels by the window to look for signs of damage. Then, she opens the window fully and pokes her head out onto a fire escape. She looks around as if gauging its structural stability before pulling herself through the window.

 

She looks down to the alley floor then up. There is nothing off about the fire escape. It looked rather normal. The occasional window garden and a still locked ladder below.

 

She turns back to the window and kneels on the outside, inspecting the frame. No sign of breaking an entering. This window had to be opened from the inside.

 

“Huh,” she says, pulling the camera up and taking a photo of it.

 

She slides back into the apartment and trips as she sets her feet on the ground. She fall forward and catches herself on a side table by the couth. The officer turn and look to her and she waves her arm at them.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, “not that you would help me anyway” she mumbles beneath her breath.

 

Her eyes turn to the answering machine nearby as she notices a blinking. She tilts her head and stands to approach the machine. It blinks the number 3. She turns and closes the window before locking it shut.

 

Then she turns back to the machine. She looks up at the officers, then down the machine and presses play.

 

\--

Inside the privacy of this room, Ezria sits in the tub full of now pink water. The blood has come off of his hand now and the water leaves a ring of deep pink on the edge of the stone tub.

 

Ezria leans back in the tub, his eyes shut and his breathe ragged as he strokes his cock. The speed of his strokes create waves in the tub that his the side of the stone and splash over the edge.

 

“Mmm,” he moans into his hand as his hips begin to thrust into his tight grip. He had done this several times within the confines of the cage, despite knowing he’d have to sit in his own mess. But here, with his legs outstretched and every inch of his body touching something like water or air – it was better.

 

He shuts his eyes, imagining a female demon tickling the sensitive nub of his nipple as her soft hands strokes him – her grip strong yet gentle.

 

He moans loudly, his body getting goosebumps at both the cool water, and the idea of another’s touch. He had been to the sweat pits once and had enjoyed those moments, but he found the privacy of his own bedroom far more befitting for what he wanted.

 

There he could freely feel and lick every inch of his lovers body with little rush or intrusion. He wanted that now, he wanted to be touched by another. He hums to himself, focused on the sound of the water splashing and the feeling of his hand pulling tightly on his cock.

 

He’s so lost in that fantasy that he doesn’t even hear the stomping nearby, getting progressively closer to the door.

 

Suddenly the door _bursts_ wide open and Ezria sits up alarmed, the water splashing over the edge of the tub to his movement. A _seething_ Calmos stands covered in blood in the doorway.

 

“I’m so tired of these … these wretched demons!” he yells, coming in and slamming the door behind him.

 

“What are you doing?!” Ezria asks, moving to cover his erection.

 

His eyes drop to the blood on Calmos’ pants and a strange concern fills his eyes.

 

“Where did that blood come from? Are you okay?” he asks.

 

“Everyone here is a _fucking_ asshole and I hate them. I don’t expect demons to be good, no that would be too much but at least cordial? At least …. I don’t know, _decent_?”

 

Calmos walks closer and it dawns on Ezria he is fine, then it also dawns on him that he is in the middle of pleasing himself.

 

“Get out!” Ezria says, the goosebumps on his skin now purely from the cold.

 

“You know, for once I thought I could reach him with logic and a-a-and thought but,” he says a sickening chuckle in his voice, “what is the point of _logic_ with a demon? No, all we care about is _blood_ and imposing our will apparently.”

 

Calmos gets closer, approaching the stool near the tub.

 

“Don’t come any closer!” Ezria says in a panic, his arm extending out from the tub trying to stop Calmos. Water drips from his arm onto the floor.

 

“I should have taken the opportunity be a crossroads demon when I was offered,” Calmos says, continuing to move forward, “at least then I wouldn’t have had to deal with … these … these…”

 

He struggles to find the word he wants. There are too many words he could call these demons, theses monsters … these … _abominations_. But then what would that make him _? Was he truly any better than any of them?_

 

“Calmos we _must_ talk about this another time!” Ezria says, waving his hand to get a seething Calmos’s attention.

 

“Oh, its nothing I haven’t seen,” he says, not interested in what Ezria has to say. He’s been to the sweat pits enough to have seen more than enough nudity in his life time.

 

He moves to sit on the stool, within direct view of all that Ezria is hiding.

 

“To think, to _think_ that he would _actually_ give a _shit_ about me. Everyone here is the same. Narcissistic, self-aggrandizing, Selfish … as if they are the _only_ beings to ever exist. Why did I ever think that a father should love their own child?”

 

Calmos sighs, and his anger breaks away into sadness. They were demons and they were all the same.

 

“Why would he care about me?” he asks.

 

Ezria pauses, seeing the sadness in Calmos’ eyes. Demons weren’t sad either. Anger, sure, rage was the backbone of Hell. But sadness? Even more, why did he care? Why did he want to fix that sadness?

 

Calmos stares forward, his brain running a mile a minute. Was he truly any different than any of the other demons? Why was he different? Why did he feel like there was some …hole in his existence? A thread that had yet to be pulled, something that would unravel a question he had always asked himself. Or maybe that was it. Maybe he was just as narcissistic as everyone to believe it mattered.

 

To believe his life meant anything more than carrying water or being the apprentice of a hateful father. Maybe he was just as demonic.  Maybe this would be the thing that made him figure it out.

 

There is a silence between them, as Calmos stares into nothingness. Ezria watches him, his hands still covering an erection that seems not at all swayed by Calmos’ presence. If anything, it seems to be rather enjoying it. Ezria shifts in the tub, sending the sound of water piercing through Calmos’ ears. It knocks him out of his trance and he sighs.

 

“Should it be odd that the longer I spend here,” he says, “the more I feel …”

 

Calmos turns to look at Ezria, who tries but fails to cover his erection. Calmos’ eyes naturally drift down because of Ezria’s odd posture and he locks eyes on what Ezria can’t hide. A cold chill runs over his body as it dawns on him.

 

“Get out!” Ezria says again, realizing that Calmos was staring directly at him.

 

Calmos stands and moves away from the tub.

 

“I … sorry, I thought …”

 

What had he thought? That the angel was shy about his nude form? That had already proven to be false when he undressed in front of Calmos earlier. Why had he assumed Ezria was shy about his body? No, he wasn’t shy at all. He was embarrassed because he had been caught pleasuring himself. He had been caught giving in to the easiest of temptations.

 

“I … my apologies,” he says lowering his head, “I don’t know why I just barged in here like that.”

 

 _Narcissism_ , he thinks. He _was_ just as bad.

 

“I don’t know why either,” Ezria says upset, but more so embarrassed.

 

He was an angel, he was the son of God, a member of the greatest creation known to man and here he was, in hell and servicing himself.

 

Calmos moves to leave and Ezria sits there, covering himself and watching Calmos leave.

 

“Wait!” he says.

 

Calmos pauses and cautions a glance behind him.

 

“I … I was listening to you,” he says, “I just …”

 

“I understand, My Lord,” Calmos says, “I … it won’t happen again.”

 

Calmos turns to leave but is stopped again by Ezria’s words.

 

“I’m planning on going to earth soon. To visit Lucifer. I have many questions and favors to ask of him. Perhaps it might do you some good to join me? Afterall, I’d like to keep an eye on you.”

 

Calmos pauses.

 

“If you are concerned for my safety, I can handle myself,” he says.

 

Ezria nods, “Perhaps it is not your safety I am concerned about, Calmos.”

 

Calmos turns to him and they lock eyes. Ezria’s eyes narrow.

 

“There is something odd about you and I intend to discover what it is. It would be best if you join me. In fact, it is not a request, it is an order.”

 

Calmos guffaws and rolls his eyes, “I’m done with orders,” he says, his voice stern.

 

Ezria smiles, “and I now know how you feel about hell. It seems we are both at an impasse.”

 

Calmos pauses and sighs. He closes his eyes and shakes his head.

 

“If I leave, father would be … it would make him more upset.”

 

“And?” Ezria says, his hand snaking down his thigh, back to his penis. He begins to softly stroke himself, in a manner imperceptible to Calmos. He stares at him as a deep jet black ichor begins to pour into his eyes.

 

“Do you still believe him worthy of redemption? Will you always do as your father asks?” Ezria says.

 

Calmos turns to him, the rage he had been carrying when he first arrived seeping back into his veins.

 

“That’s not what I mean,” he says.

 

Ezria shrugs, and with a strange charisma says, “I suppose if you’d like to continue spending your life under the thumb of your father you can. Or…”

 

“Fine,” Calmos says standing up straight, his mind made up, “I will go, but only because _I_ want to not because you want me to.”

 

Ezria smiles and hums. To Calmos it is a pleased hum, perhaps at his words. To Ezria, the hum is his pleasure at something else entirely.

 

“Then it is settled,” Ezria says, “We will leave when I am done here.”

 

Calmos nods, his eyes briefly lower to imagine what is on the other side of the tub wall.

 

“I’ll let you get back to it,” he says.

 

He turns to leave then pauses again.

 

“Again,” he says, daring a glance behind him, “my apologies again for my intrusion.”

 

“Never apologize for your rage Calmos,” Ezria says, “Of all your emotion’s it is the least confusing.”

 

Calmos exits and makes sure the door is completely shut. Then, he stands patiently on the other side.

 

 _A trip to earth._ Should he be as excited as he is? He reaches into the bag draped across his body and pulls out his harmonica. He eyes it as if it had been a souvenir. He briefly wonders what other strange instruments the humans might have and his mind starts to wander into thinking what Earth might be like.

 

\--

 

Inside the bathroom, Ezria watches as the door shuts then pauses for a moment before turning back to his cock, still firmly gripped in his hand. He begins to stroke himself slowly, trying to get back into the mental headspace he was in. He turns his eyes to the door, part of him knowing Calmos was on the other side. He leans his head back against the tub and begins to thrust into his fist again, his eyes locked on the door.

 

He imagines Calmos barging in again, this time not out of anger but out of _lust_. He lets go a soft moan, as he closes his eyes, imagining Calmos’ tongue roaming over every inch of his body. Its not what he wants to think about, or rather it isn’t what he _should_ be thinking about, but he can’t shake the thought of it out of his mind.

 

He imagines his body as firm, yet soft. His tongue licking ever dent and divot in Calmos’ body as he trails up his stomach, up his chest and across his collarbone.

 

The water becomes displaced again as his stroking increases, emitting tantalizing sounds from the back of his throat.

 

He would look into Calmos’ eyes and see … what would he see?

 

_What did he want to see?_

 

\--

 

On the other side the door, Calmos is deep in the thought of going to earth when a moan from the other side of the door fractures his thoughts. He pauses, his heart beating faster as he waits.

 

Did he just hear what he-

 

Another moan, accompanied by the sounds of splashing water pieces through the door. Calmos swallows, trying heart to calm the beating in his chest and the tingling developing between his legs. He tries hard to block it out, to only think of earth and the possibilities.

 

Another moan fills his ears behind him and he shuts his eyes. Suddenly he feels short of breath as he tries to get a control on his breathing. Slowly he reaches to the bag across his body and slides the pouch in front of his rising erection.

 

 _Earth_ , he thinks louder, _he’s never been to earth._

 


	16. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella puts together a new case, Dan starts to behave poorly, Calmos finds out something strange about Ezria, Lucifer has a talk with God, Amenadiel and Linda make up, Maze has troubles at work and Lucifer makes an admission to Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me! I hope these long chapters offset the long time between updates.
> 
> For updates on when new chapters will be posted, be sure to follow my tumblr at hrfiction.tumblr.com
> 
> \----------

 

It’s dark outside, but the lights are off in Lucifer’s penthouse. Amenadiel sits on a stool by the bar while Lucifer seems busy pulling cups and glasses from cupboards beneath the bar.

 

The cups he’s been using are too small, he needed something bigger, something … _colder._

 

He pulls out a metal shaker and looks into it before sniffing it. It’s clean.

 

Amenadiel leans his back against the bar, staring out towards the open balcony into nighttime Los Angeles.

 

“Reaped,” Amenadiel says, crossing his arms, “I thought they only reaped souls on their way out.”

 

Lucifer nods as he dips the metal shaker into an open freezer and fills it with ice.

 

‘Yes, but crossroad demons have gone idle with technology,” Lucifer says, closing the lid of the open freezer."

 

"they used to at least wait to verify the person was dead before stealing their soul, but now they’ve become more ….”

 

He turns to Amenadiel, “… _Apathetic_.”

 

Amenadiel turns to him, his eyes narrow.

 

“Perhaps if they had a King to lead them, they’d have a better work ethic.”

 

Lucifer scoffs and pulls the metal shaker up to his jugular.

 

“Don’t start with me, brother,” he says, annoyed, “I lack the energy.”

 

Lucifer walks around the end of the bar and moves to sit on the sofa. Amenadiel watches him, his mind spinning a mile a minute.

It was as if he were aware he was watching something odd happen and didn’t know what to say. Or even worst, didn’t know what he was looking at enough to know if he should at least be afraid.

 

They sit in silence for a moment. Neither knowing what to say.

 

“So, what are we going to do?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer inhales deeply as if parsing that question in his mind. He nods to himself. 

 

What could they do? It was hardly like Lucifer to break a contract, yet alone force someone to break a contract. But a reaped soul? 

 

The reaped soul of someone he …cared about?

 

He pauses.

 

Did he  _like_  Daniel?

 

Sure, he was related to the Detective in some sense, and he had already come to terms with how he felt about her, but … Daniel? 

 

_Detective Douche?_

 

He narrows his eyes, searching deep within himself.

 

 _Damn,_  he thinks he likes Daniel.

 

He would be upset if Daniel were successful in his attempt at taking his own life. Perhaps it wasn’t too farfetched to say this was an extension of that. 

 

Besides, he didn’t need a reason to piss off a crossroads demon. They were usually the worst of the bunch.

 

Lucifer turns to Amenadiel who still stares at him as if waiting for him to answer the question.

 

 “We find the demon who reaped him and make him give it back,” he says, still pressing the shaker to his neck.

 

“You make it sound easy,” Amenadiel says.

 

“That is because it is. Demons are simple creatures. They have few wants and desires.”

 

“For instance?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“ _For instance,_  not wanting to be sent to the void. For as much as they would like to say they aren’t fearful, every mortal - even a demon – fears death.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “Demons don’t have fear, that’s what makes them demons.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “Trust me, brother. I’m much more versed in demonology then you are. Demons are many things, including the occasional liar. While it’s true they don’t care to lie about much, because … well, they don’t _care_ about much. No demon will admit to mortal fear.”

 

“So, you’re going to threaten to kill them?” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer chuckles and sits back, crossing his legs.

 

“No, I will threaten to send them back to Hell without their blades. Their brethren will do the rest.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, seemingly disagreeing

 

“You have a better plan?” Lucifer asks.

 

Amenadiel turns to him and pauses. He thinks for a moment before uncrossing his arms in defeat and shaking his head, “No.”

 

“Good,” he says, “all we have to do is find the demon, get back Daniel’s soul, and put it back into his body.”

 

Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows.

 

“How are we going to do that?” he asks.

 

Lucifer pauses, then tilts his head. His eyes go wide as he stares out into nothing.

 

“I have no earthly clue,” he says.

 

Amenadiel sighs.

 

“But,” Lucifer says, turning to Amenadiel, “I do know where we can begin.”

 

\--

 

Outside the room with the stone tub, Calmos stands patiently. The tempting noises behind him have long since stopped, and he can barely make out the light shuffle of Ezria moving around.

 

He stands there, the bag still draped over his slowly deflating erection, and not at all bothered by it. His mind is only on one thing now, Earth.

 

Would he really be going to earth? Or was the angel being cruel in keeping his hopes up?

Why was he so hopeful? Why did he want to go to earth so badly?

 

His eyes roam up to the hallway in front of him. It leads down the winding staircase and into the hallways of hell. 

Maybe it wasn’t excitement for going to earth, he thinks, but excitement for leaving Hell?

 

Calmos wasn’t lying when he said the longer he spent here, the more he felt like he was missing. Like he was a single being in a sea of others who were not like him.

 

Perhaps that was his narcissism? 

 

He had held himself as different, as better than, but maybe every demon felt that way? He shakes that thought out of his head and straightens up.

 

 _Earth._  

 

He was going to earth. 

 

Maybe there he would find the clarity he needed? Perhaps then he would learn if being a crossroads demon was for him.

 

The door behind him opens, and Calmos turns to see Ezria step out. He is shirtless as the shirt he was wearing is draped over his arm and stained with blood.

Calmos’s eyes climb down his body as his heart beings to race.

 

To him, Ezria was looking like a meal, and Calmos had never been so _hungry_.

 

“Come,” Ezria says, either ignoring or not seeing the way Calmos looks at him, “I must change before we go.”

 

Ezria looks down at what Calmos is wearing. He is shirtless and shoeless. The only item of clothing he wears is the dirty burlap pants and the oddly placed bag around his waist.

 

“You could do with some proper clothing as well,” he says.

 

Calmos looks down at his clothes, “What is wrong with my trousers?” he asks.

 

Ezria laughs, “Come,” he says, beckoning Calmos to follow him.

 

They walk down a hallway and turn to a much shorter hall that ends in two double doors. Ezria approaches and swings the door open to reveal private quarters, Lucifer’s private quarters.

Well, Ezria’s private quarters at the moment.

 

He tosses the shirt onto the floor and approaches a wardrobe. There, he swings the doors to the wardrobe open revealing rows of clean, dry, and ironed suits.

 

“My brother has particularities in many things,” Ezria says, grabbing a suit without even looking at it, “and oddly enough, this is one of those. He keeps a wardrobe of suits at all times. It’s quite interesting. I often find myself wondering how it is they _know_.”

 

He turns and tosses the suit to Calmos. Calmos doesn’t catch it, and it falls towards the floor.

 

He reaches down and grabs it by the hanger before holding it up and looking at it.

 

“Put it on,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos lowers the suit to say something and is met with a fully nude Ezria as he discards his old pants and slides on a fresh pair, sans underwear.

 

Calmos looks at him, his eyes unable to leave his body and betraying his innermost thoughts.

 

Ezria turns to him as he buttons his pants, then tilts his head.

“Well?” he asks, impatient, “put it on.”

 

Calmos reluctantly nods and turns his back to Ezria. He drapes the suit over a nearby chair before eying it. He’s seen this kind of suit before, on the humans in their cells and on Lucifer. But wearing one? That seemed odd.

 

He turns briefly to watch Ezria as he slips his arms into the sleeves of his button-up shirt.

 

He turns back to the suit and cautiously moves the bag from around his waist. His erection is going down, and if he were quick, Ezria would be none the wiser. He reaches down and slowly unbuttons the jacket before sliding it off and setting it aside.

 

Then he undoes the shirt, opening it up just enough that he can see the pants folded over the hanger.

 

He turns to see Ezria gently shoving the now buttoned shirt into his pants. Calmos turns back to the clothing in front of him before tossing the bag around his waist off him.

It falls to the ground as he reaches to pull the fabric of his pants down to his ankles in one fell swoop before stepping out of it. 

 

He kicks it to the side before reaching for the suit pants and pulling it onto his body in one long motion. He reaches down and buttons the pants before briefly fiddling with the zipper.

 

The pants are slightly baggy on him. If he had more muscle, they would fit perfectly, but it was clear the true owner of this clothing was way more muscular than Calmos.

 

He turns to see Ezria fiddling with the buttons on his shirt cuffs.

 

At least the pants fit Calmos better than they did Ezria.

 

Calmos turns back to the shirt and picks it up before delicately sliding his arms inside. It was an odd feeling. He doesn’t recall ever having a shirt.

There was no need for one, and his father certainly wouldn’t have had one made for him.

 

He grunts, thinking about his father and their fight. What father doesn’t even make a shirt for their son?

 

He sighs as he fiddles with the buttons, his mind somewhere lost. Suddenly there is a hand below his, and Calmos snaps back to reality to find Ezria standing in front of him, buttoning the shirt Calmos now wears.

 

He is silent and determined yet gentle. Calmos lowers his hands and watches.

 

“When we get to Earth,” Ezria says, “the first thing we will do is have better clothing made for us. Lucifer’s clothing may suit our needs but, I imagine you’d look much better in something more … fitting.”

 

“Oh no,” Calmos says, trying not to concentrate on the increasingly close distance Ezria’s hands are getting to his waist, “my clothing is perfectly fine. No need to sully something so nice when you’re trudging through the pits.”

 

Ezria smiles, “Do you intend to trudge through the pits for eternity?”

 

Calmos pauses. He doesn’t know how to answer that.

 

"I ...," Calmos starts to say.

 

Ezria finishes buttoning his shirt and lifts the bottom of it for a second before unbuttoning Calmos’ pants. 

 

Before Calmos can protest, Ezria’s hands are inside his pants, tucking the hem of the shirt inside.

 

“Or do you desire something more … noble?”

 

Calmos tries to steady his breathing. He can feel Ezria’s hands through the thin fabric of the shirt, pulling the fabric around his buttocks. He’s trying exceptionally hard to not wake his erection again.

 

“I … I don’t know,” he says, “I think my task is fitting.”

 

“Hmm, “Ezria hums, his hands moving around to the side of Calmos’ body, tucking the shirt into his pants.

 

“What if I were to offer you a station more befitting of your skillset?”

 

Calmos furrows his eyebrows, “My skillset?” he says, briefly forgetting Ezria’s hands wrapped around his side.

 

“You were going to fight that demon earlier. You had no intention of sparing him. I could use someone like you by my side.” Ezria says, his hands moving to the front of Calmos’ pants.

 

Calmos quickly pulls himself away, knowing where this is going and what his body might do.

 

“I can’t do that!” he says.

 

Ezria tilts his head at Calmos’ hasty retreat.

 

“I mean, “Calmos says, tucking the front of his shirt into his pants, “I’ve sent many demons to the void but … it's not a task I would say I excel in. In fact, it’s something I’d rather not do.”

 

“Huh,” Ezria says, “even as my sentinel?”

 

Calmos pauses.

 

“What?”

 

Ezria turns and approaches the wardrobe where a single jacket hangs. He reaches for it and pulls it off his hanger.

 

“Yes, I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time. In fact, I believe it was one of the first things I thought of when I met you.”

 

“One of the first?” Calmos asks.

 

What would make this Angel think he would make a good sentinel? Let alone that he deserved it. There were many demons in hell who would rip each other apart for a chance by an Angel’s side, even if that angel wasn’t Lucifer.

 

“One of the first,” Ezria says, making no effort to hide his eyes cascading down Calmos’s body.

 

Calmos hurriedly buttons his pants and shakes his head.

 

“No, I … I can’t. That’s not for me. I- I bring the water.”

 

“I see,” Ezria says, slipping the jacket over his limbs, “I guess I was misunderstanding your true desires. I thought you wanted to be appreciated. Revered.”

 

“I, I do … but I can do so without killing.”

 

Ezria chuckles to himself as he settles the suit jacket on him. He had spent an eternity in dirty robes from the silver city. Still, he had taken rather keenly to Lucifer’s attire. He buttons the single jacket button and approaches Calmos.

 

“Do you think you will gain any admiration for carrying the water?” Ezria asks, “Truly, you believe that?”

 

Calmos pauses, his eyes floating to the side as he thinks. He had carried the water for a long as he can remember, and none of it had gotten better.

He had imagined hard work and perseverance would win him favor in the eyes of his kin and blood. But, other demons still treated him like flesh to be toyed with and his father …

 

He shakes his head.

 

His father treated him like … like a  _human_.

 

“Calmos,” Ezria says, his voice deeper.

 

Calmos turns his gaze back and finds himself staring right into the darkened eyes of Ezria. Ezria stares into him, his eyes unwavering.

 

“You don’t want to be considered a child forever, do you?”

 

Calmos stares at him, his eyes darting back and for the between the two jet black pools in front of him. He had been toying with the truth in his mind, coming to his own conclusion. Yet, staring int Ezria’s eyes made it all apparent. There was clarity there, and he saw it all now. He would never get what he wanted by carrying the water. He was stuck in a station he couldn’t escape.

 

Slowly he shakes his head, “No,” he says.

 

“You want to show them that you are to be respected … feared, yes?”

 

Calmos nods.

 

Ezria smiles, “and what is the best way to do that?”

 

Calmos stares into Ezria’s eyes. They are a dark void that pulls out his deepest thoughts, but within them is a comfort and love he hasn’t felt before. Perhaps it was true love, or perhaps it wasn’t love at all. But it was something more than what Atmos had offered him, or any demon in the pits for that matter.

 

“I must become your sentinel,” Calmos says, the words flowing from his lips as if it were his own revelation.

 

Ezria nods and smiles.

 

“No demon would ever look sideways at you again knowing you to be an extension of me,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos nods.

 

“Then, you agree?” Ezria asks.

 

Calmos nods again, his gaze locked into Ezria’s.

 

“Say it,” Ezria says.

 

“I … I want to-“ he begins, just as the door unlocks and a demon with two freshly pressed suits walks in. He pauses as both Calmos and Ezria turn to him. He looks at Calmos, then at Ezria as the darkness behind Ezria’s eyes fade.

 

“My apologies my Lord,” he says, “I wasn’t aware you were indisposed. I just … I have new clothing for you.”

 

Ezria sighs and nods as he watches the demon walk to the wardrobe and fill the empty space inside with suits.

 

Ezria turns to Calmos and smiles.

 

“It’s like they  _know,”_  Ezria says, a strange excitement in his voice as he turns to gather his shoes.

 

Calmos looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed and catching his breath as if he hadn't been breathing at all. What just happened?

 

_What was that?_

 

\--

 

Inside the shady motel room, the linens have long been cleaned, and the walls wiped down. If a patron didn’t know any better, they wouldn’t have thought that someone attempted to take their life almost a week prior. Amenadiel and Lucifer know, however, and so when the door opens and they step in, there isn’t a considerable loss of suspense.

 

The room smells like a cardboard box locked in a wet room for far too long. The lights are dingy, and the yellowing on the walls indicates that – despite being a non-smoking room – there have been many smokers who have stayed here.

 

Amenadiel shuts the door behind them as Lucifer walks further into the room.

 

“Now I see why this room was so cheap,” Amenadiel says, taking note of the shabby dresser that holds up a barely functioning TV.

 

“People don’t rent these rooms for the accommodations, brother,” Lucifer says as he stands at the bathroom door. 

 

He reaches in and flips the switch, drowning the bathroom in light. His eyes look around for a moment before he turns back to the bedroom.

 

“Sounds like your kind of place then,” Amenadiel says, laughing, his arms crossed.

 

Lucifer pauses and turns to Amenadiel.

 

“Despite the number of women and men that have had me,” he says offended, “ I have never been promiscuous. I have always chosen wisely.”

 

He turns to the bed.

 

“The kind of people who stay here and rent by the hour are indiscriminate,” he says.

 

Lucifer stares at the bed, more particularly the sheets. They are stained with cigarette burns, not blood, and questionably clean.

 

He reaches out and pulls the sheets back to reveal a thin layer of cloth between the mattress and bed. He can already see a giant, dark brown stain seeping through the sheets.

 

“In their lovers and linen,” he says, tossing the sheets further off and then wiping his hand on his shorts, “I mean, just imagine how much semen these sheets have seen,” he asks.

 

“I’d rather not,” Amenadiel says furrowing his eyebrows and uncrossing his arms.

 

“Not the quantity either, mind you, I mean the sheer variety,” Lucifer says.

 

“What are we looking for, Luci?” he asks, suddenly ready to change the subject.

 

Lucifer turns his attention back to the sheets and leans forward to rip the thin layer of fabric off to reveal a large bloodstain on the mattress.

 

He nods to himself, then turns to Amenadiel.

 

“I spoke with Maze last night about her discovery of Daniel,” he says, walking around the bed.

 

“She was oddly distracted, and she was not very forthcoming. She kept saying something about grenades and shovels? I don't know, the point is I was able to determine how Detective Douche intended to end it.”

 

Amenadiel cringes, “Luci, he’s still in the hospital,” he says.

 

Lucifer turns to Amenadiel, “It’s our thing,” he says, “you wouldn’t understand. Now, Maze says she heard a gun go off before she found Daniel bleeding on to this very mattress.”

 

“The Gunshot wound,” Amenadiel says his arms crossing again, “What does this have to do with anything? We already know that.”

 

“She heard a gun, but there was no gun recovered. Which indicates the manner in which he was reaped-“

 

“A gun,” Amenadiel says as if he were stupid for not knowing this.

 

Lucifer nods then walks back to the side of the bed closer to the door.

 

“Do you know how many crossroads demons there are in Los Angeles?” Lucifer asks, kneeling by the bed, staring over the edge of the bed as if looking for something to stick out. 

 

He turns back to Amenadiel and stands.

 

“Too many,” he answers before Amenadiel can.

 

“Trying to discover which of them repead our friend would be a waste of time unless we knew the manner in which he was repead.”

 

Amenadiel smiles, “You called him your friend.”

 

Lucifer turns back to Amenadiel and pauses. His eyes drop to the mattress.

 

“So I did,” he says.

 

He turns his eyes back to Amenadiel who still smiles then looks back on the mattress.

 

“Either way, if there was a gun, there must have been a bullet,” Lucifer says,” and if there is a bullet there must be a-“

 

His eyes cascade up the bed from the large spot of dried and improperly cleaned blood to the two fluffy pillows sitting on the headboard. He narrows his eyes and approaches them before pulling the pillows off the bed to reveal a slightly lighter colored spot inside the bed frame. It looks as if someone has filled and painted it recently.

 

“Bullet hole,” he says.

 

He kneels on the bed, and Amenadiel steps forward.

 

“I wouldn’t touch anything on this bed if I were you,” he says.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “I’m immortal,” he says, turning back to the filled hole on the bed. He pauses and turns back to Amenadiel.

 

“My apologies, the Detective is constantly questioning the status of my health. It’s a reactionary thing at this point.”

 

Amenadiel chuckles, “She cares about you, is that such a bad thing?” he asks.

 

Lucifer nods and turns back to the filled hole on the bed.

 

“Besides,” he says, “You _are_  aware I have zero body hair for anything to grab onto.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “Sorry I asked.”

 

Lucifer reaches out and puts his finger over the hole. He can feel a slight groove from the shoddy work of filling it in.

 

He looks it over, his eyes trying to figure out how deep and wide the hole might go.

 

He turns his head back to the puddle on the mattress, then back to the hole, trying to put together a series of events.

 

“A pistol,” he says leaning off the bed, “perhaps a revolver of some sort. A modern one would have had more firepower behind it. It wouldn’t have left a groove to be filled. So it has to be older.”

 

Amenadiel smiles, “Seems like your work with the LAPD has been beneficial.”

 

Lucifer turns to Amenadiel, a story forming just behind his eyes. He smiles to himself, suddenly very sure.

 

“Of all the crossroad demons in this city, there are only fifteen who use guns to reap. Even still, only five use older pistols for reaping. We pick the right demon, and we might get Daniel’s soul back.”

 

“If we pick the wrong one?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer hums to himself and nods, “If word gets out the Devil is seeking to break a soul contract, whoever is the true owner of Daniel’s soul might ditch it completely. No demon will want to break a contract because it makes them look weak."

 

"And no demon will want ownership of it," Amenadiel says.

 

"Because of what I will do to them," Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “So they will ditch his soul, and we will never find it. By the time we do, Daniel will have been dead - truly dead - for centuries.”

 

“Or worst brother, they may put his soul into a newborn. Could you imagine? Stealing a soul from a baby.” he says.

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

“and leaving Daniel without a soul isn’t an option?” Amenadiel asks, almost rhetorically.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “You think he’s a douche  _now_?”

 

Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows, “To be clear, I never said that.”

 

“Yes, well imagine a human who suddenly has no conscience, no feelings of guilt. A pompous, narcissistic, self-aggrandizing fool. No compass in the dark of poor and irrevocable decisions. Truly, what is a demon but a mortal with no soul?”

 

“That was a rhetorical question, Luci,” Amenadiel says, “ _Obviously_ , we are going to get him his soul back.”

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, “This isn’t a joke, Amenadiel. If I recall correctly, all of this is your doing. Perhaps its best we did not make light of a situation that will have dire consequences. Daniel has direct access to the Detective and the spa… Trixie.”

 

Amenadiel nods, “Right,” he says, not wanting to push it any further.

 

Lucifer wasn’t going to let go of his mistake so easily, and it was clear his humor had gone with whatever was keeping his body temperature in a normal range. He was a volcano constantly on the verge of erupting. 

 

Lucifer pulls himself off the bed, take a look at the room again and nods.

 

“Now, let’s get out of here before I have to explain what is going on here.”

 

Amenadiel chuckles as Lucifer opens the door and walks out of the room.

 

“I think they’ve seen stranger things.”

 

Amenadiel closes the door behind them as Lucifer continues to walk towards the black sports car parked just a few feet away.

 

Amenadiel stands at the door, his hands in his pocket. Lucifer opens the door and steps a foot inside before he looks up and sees Amenadiel standing there.

 

“Well? Come on. This crossroad demon isn’t going to find itself,” he says.

Amenadiel pauses and nods to himself before turning to Lucifer.

 

“It’s getting late, Luci. I’m going to give the key back and head out. I have some things I need to do.,” he says.

 

Lucifer looks at him and nods. 

 

“Very well. I suppose we shouldn’t send an Angel to do the Devil’s bidding,” he says as turns the key, revs the engine and backs out before driving off into the night.

 

\--

 

It’s night time, and Linda Martin sits on the back porch of her home with her legs tucked beneath a blanket. Close by, a cup of hot tea sits on a side table, the steam billowing up and into the night. She licks her finger and turns the page of the book in her hands.

 

 _He was cold_ , she reads,  _and every inch of his skin her hands touched was frigid beneath her warmth. Still, Gerard was inviting. She stared into his eyes wondering what long list of experiences he had before her and wondering if this would be anything to sneeze at._

 

Linda chuckles to herself. The author had to put in sneezing into a sex scene? That’s the last thing someone would want to hear before sex; the sound of mucus.

 

 _The sound of mucus._  

 

The hills are alive with the sound of mucus.

 

She laughs at herself.

 

Linda reaches for her cup of tea when a breeze blows by carrying on it a familiar scent.

 

She looks up towards the backyard, into the darkness. She can’t see anything, but she can feel him there. She listens for a moment, checking the stillness for any sign of him.

 

“Amenadiel?” she asks into nothingness. 

 

A doubt in her voice that her spirit didn’t have. It is silent. No response. Still, she doesn’t feel alone anymore.

 

“I spoke with Maze,” Linda says, closing the pages of her book, and looking out into her backyard, “you don’t have to hide anymore.”

 

Still, it is silent.

 

“You can talk to me,” she says, “in public.”

 

All is silent and still until a dark figure emerges from behind the tree. He stands tall, yet unsure. He walks forward into the dim light from the porch.

 

“You spoke with her?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Linda smiles and places her feet on the floor before tapping the spot next to her.

 

“Come sit with me,” she says.

 

Amenadiel approaches, still wary.

 

“She said this was okay?” he asks, “us talking?”

 

Linda nods, “Well, not in those words, but … she’s okay with us if that is what you are asking. She said she would rip your wings off if you hurt me.”

 

Amenadiel chuckles and nods, a relaxation falling into his shoulders.

 

“That sounds like her.”

 

He steps up onto the porch and sits next to Linda. She smiles at him, and he smiles back.

 

“How are you?” she asks.

 

He nods and turns back to the backyard.

 

“I’m … good,” he says, turning back to her with a smile.

 

She gives him a look and sets the book on the table beside her.

 

“I’m a psychologist, remember?” she says, getting herself comfortable beneath her blanket, “I know when someone is playing it loose with me. What’s bothering you?”

 

Amenadiel shrugs. He turns his eyes downward.

 

“Don’t make me bring out the notepad,” she says sternly.

 

He chuckles and lets out an elongated sigh.

 

“I’m an angel of God,” he says, turning to her, “his son. His  _favorite_  son. Yet somehow, he’s managed to lie to me, manipulate me. What if I’m only his favorite because of my naivety? My … desire to please him?”

 

He shakes his head and turns back to the backyard, “I’m questioning everything.”

 

Linda nods.

 

“Do you feel as if he has your best interest in mind?” she asks.

 

He turns to her, he hadn’t thought about the motive, only the action. He isn’t ready to confront that idea. It was enough that Father had made him feel this way. He didn’t want to think about if Father had done it on purpose.

 

What if father meant to harm him? If he knows everything, surely he knows this would hurt. 

 

This … questioning.

 

“When I was a teenager,” she says, pulling her knees up beneath the blanket, “My parents had one rule. No boys until I was 18.”

 

Amenadiel chuckles to himself, and Linda turns to him.

 

“My thoughts exactly. I mean, no boyfriends? Can you imagine?”

 

Amenadiel leans back into the chair, his eyes distant but his ears listening – clinging – onto her every word.

 

“I thought it was a stupid rule, so when a boy asked me out during sophomore year, I said yes. And no, I didn’t tell my parents. I said it was a stupid rule, but I didn’t say  _I_  was stupid.”

 

Amenadiel blows air out of his nose, amused.

 

“Let me guess, you got caught?” he asks.

 

She laughs, “No! Hell, no. I was smart about it.”

 

Linda smiles and turns to her backyard.

 

“His name was James, and he was the cutest boy in my year. We dated for a few months, and I went to his house after school for about an hour before heading home. My parents were none the wiser.”

 

He turns to her, and she turns to him.

 

“And yes, before you ask, we did the things that teenagers left alone might do.”

 

He shakes his head with a smile on his face. She chuckles to herself.

Her smile fades slightly, and she reaches for her tea before taking a sip and setting it down.

 

“Then, James suddenly didn’t like me anymore. He told me he wanted to see someone else. Of course, I was devastated. I cried in my room for weeks. At the time, it was … puppy love. It was your run of the mill teenage love affair, and nothing my parents could have said would have prevented that. Or made me feel better.”

 

She turns to him and eyes him over again, her mind going to that place again. She eyes his arms beneath the tight t-shirt he wears.  _God_ , he was ripped.

 

“In fact, I would have hated them more if they kept James from me, “ she says.

 

He turns to her, and her eyes meet his.

 

Suddenly she remembers what she was talking about.

 

“In hindsight, they were doing what parents do. Trying to keep their kid from getting pregnant, from being distracted, from being … heartbroken.”

 

She shakes her head and reaches for her tea again. This time she takes a sip and cups it in her hands.

 

“Parents only want the best for their kids,” she says, “well … most of them anyway. There are a few outliers. But … if you’ve had no reason to suggest your father wants anything but the best for you until now, why should now be any different?”

 

“How do I know what he wants for me?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Linda takes a sip of her tea and sets it down. She turns back to him and smiles. She reaches out a hand and rubs her hand down the back of his head, then to his neck.

 

“You don’t,” she says, “not now. Not while you’re in it. Give it time.”

 

He sighs and turns away from her, “I don’t have time,” he says, shaking his head, “it’s already happening.”

 

“What’s happening?” she asks.

 

He turns to her, “The change. His … transformation.”

 

Linda furrows her eyebrows, “Who? What, like a butterfly?”

 

Amenadiel nods, “Except I’m not sure it’s a butterfly we are dealing with.”

 

Linda shrugs, “Right. I gather this is some … heaven thing I probably don’t want to know about.”

 

Amenadiel laughs, “It’s about Lucifer,” he says, “He’s … changing.”

 

“Into a butterfly?” Linda says, to clarify.

 

Amenadiel laughs again and shakes his head, “Maybe.”

 

“Mm,” she says nodding. Not understanding what the hell Amenadiel is talking about but surmising it’s something she should ask Lucifer if he ever showed up to speak with her again. She pauses. 

 

He has been kind of absent as of late.

 

“So, why don’t you ask?” she says, taking another sip of her tea.

 

“Lucifer doesn’t know,” he says, “none of us know.”

 

“No, I mean to ask God,” she says.

 

“Hmm?” he says turning to her.

 

“If you’re concerned about your father’s intentions for you, why not simply ask?”

 

“Because every time I ask, I never get a straight answer.”

 

She nods, “Do you want a straight answer? I mean, how are you asking? Are you giving him room to mislead you?”

 

Amenadiel tilts his head as if that thought never occurred to him. He so used to father giving him the run around he didn’t even think to directly ask. Or maybe he did? Maybe he directly asked but wanted an indirect response. 

 

Perhaps father was only giving him what he wanted? Maybe he wanted to hear he could fix Lucifer, that he could stop what was happening. But what was the truth?

 

Amenadiel turns to Linda.

 

“Have I ever told you how smart you are?” he says with a smile.

 

She smiles and sets the tea back on the table next to her, “You flatter me,” she says before turning to him.

 

“And beautiful?” he continues.

 

His smile fades when she sees the way she is looking at him. Her eyes drift down his body almost of their own accord. When they drift back up to his, he is staring at her intensely. 

 

Suddenly, and at the same time, they both realize how close they were. 

 

They had been staring at each other through a glass wall, unable to touch or smell or taste. And here they were, beneath the open stars suddenly able to do all those things. He reaches his hand out to her and caresses the side of her face.

 

She was real and here.

 

“Do you still-,” he begins to ask, only to have his words cut short by her lips as she lunges forward.

 

Suddenly every question he had wanted to ask dissolves into nothingness, and his mind is only focused on one thing. The taste of her lips and the warmth of her body pressed up against his. He wanted to feel her again, he wanted to  _please_  her again. He wanted to feel love from somebody; from her.

 

He reaches around and lifts her off the bench as he stands. She continues to kiss him, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs wrapping tightly around his torso. He is tall and wide, and she is … much shorter. Still, her legs manage to reach, and she holds on as if he were home. He was her bed after a long trip, and she wanted to lay in him; with him.

 

“I missed you,” she says as she briefly separates from his lips. He hums into them, acknowledging her with his own agreeance.

 

“Did you miss me?” she asks, separating from him.

 

He looks down at her and smiles.

 

“Of course,” he says.

 

“Then fuck me like you missed me,” she says before attaching her mouth to his like a leech. 

 

He hums pleased before turning and walking towards the sliding door that leads into her home.

 

He reaches out as she wraps her legs tighter around his body. His hands wrap around the handle of the door and slides the door open. He steps in and slides it behind him before walking slowly to her bedroom.

 

Inside her bedroom, he tosses her onto the bed, eliciting a playful giggle from her. Then, he reaches down and peels the t-shirt off his body. She leans forward and rubs her hand down his chest. She bites her lips, she had missed his body. 

 

She turns her eyes up to him as her hand continues down to his belt. Here she begins to undo the buckle before he reaches down and finishes unbuckling his pants. He unbuttons them, reaches into his underwear, and in one fell swoop pull his half-erect penis out, resting it over the elastic of his underwear. 

 

A pleased smile comes over her face, and she slides herself off the bed and onto her knees in front of him. She reaches up and grabs his cock before placing it into her mouth.

 

“Mmm,” she hums, as if she had been starving and just had her first bite of cake. 

 

Her hand strokes what she can't fit in her mouth before she pops him out of her mouth and laps one long lick up the shaft of his cock before popping him back into her mouth.

 

He groans and reaches forward to put a hand on the back of her head. He is strong and powerful, but the way he gently cups her head makes her believe there was no doubt he still loved her. That thought makes her only want him more.

 

They continue this for a moment, her hand stroking the base of his cock while her mouth wraps around the tip, licking and sucking with great enthusiasm.

 

She pops him out of her mouth again and stands before turning and climbing onto her bed. He reaches down and pulls his pants off, sliding the legs of his jeans off one by one. Meanwhile, she lays on her back and pulls the pajama pants she wears off her body before tossing them aside. He climbs between her legs as she reaches up and unbuttons the pajama suit revealing her naked torso.

 

He leans forward, his mouth engulfing her breast and his tongue running circles around her sensitive nipple. Again, she hums in approval, and her hand slips between them and grabs onto his cock. He moves to her other breast, licking and sucking on it with eagerness, his mind completely off his worries and concerns about his father, about Lucifer, about the final war. 

 

All of that drains from him, and he can only think about one thing, her; Linda. Pleasing her in a way he thought he would never be able to again, hearing her moans and feeling her body beneath his.

 

Amenadiel removes his suction from her nipple and kisses her again, passionately and deeply. He leans in, resting his body weight partially on her. She slides her hand from between them as he places more and more pressure on her until she can feel his hard cock lying against her pussy.

 

 He begins to pump his hips, the length of his clock sliding up through her lips and past her clit. Her breathing increases as does the heat between their bodies. He can feel how wet she is already, but he wanted to feel more. 

 

He separates from her and reaches down before positioning himself at her entrance and applying pressure.

 

She moans as the tip enters her. He groans as he continues to put pressure on their bodies, his cock slowly burying into her until he can go no further without hurting her. Then, he slowly begins to slide himself in and out of her. Her moan carries itself on the back of an exhale as her body gives in to him. 

 

He leans forward, placing his hands on either side of her head and thrusts into her, each new pump generating a pleasing sound from her. She reaches out and places her hands on his biceps, they are taught and firm as he holds himself up. She grabs onto them like the pillars they are and steadies herself against the rhythm of his thrusts.

 

Together, their bodies make music that is offset by the odd moan and grunt.

 

“Yes!” she moans before their lips meet; their tongues entangling inside their mouths.

 

“Mmm,” he hums into her mouth as he continues to thrust into her, her body receiving his with ease now.

 

Then, Amenadiel stands up, his feet still on the floor and wraps his arms around her torso as he pushes her further onto the bed. He climbs onto the bed, trying to get a more comfortable position.

 

He brings his knees up so that he is kneeling between her legs. He then sets her legs against his shoulders and pulls her closer by her hips. Then, he wraps his hands around the sides of her waist and pulls her body against his as he thrusts into her again.

 

“Ohh Fuck!” she cries out, feeling him deeper inside of her. She loved him for many reasons, he was kind and gentle but powerful. He was calm and collected, and she felt safe with him. But he was also deeper in her than most had ever gone. 

 

Only one person had made her feel as free and full as she does now, and he just so happened to be an Angel as well. Perhaps it was how they were made? Either way, at this moment, she wanted to thank God. She wanted to scream his name out, but that sentiment might come out differently when having sex with an Angel.

 

“Oh, Ames,” she says breathlessly, settling for the second-best option. It was what she called him in moments like this, when Amenadiel was too long of a word to say. She didn’t have enough breath in her to get that out in the heat of the moment.

 

He groans in reply. Of all the things he’s ever been called, he missed that name the most. It meant he was doing something right.

 

“Choke me,” she says.

 

He chuckles and leans forward, spreading her legs, so they lay on either side of him. He reaches out a hand and grabs onto her neck, holding firm with the right amount of pressure. It was a light touch, considering how strong he truly was, but it was enough to get her where she wanted to go.

 

“Yes!” she moans as he continues to thrust into her, her body lubricating each push and pull even further.

 

“Yes!” she says again, gasping as he lets out a grunt, his orgasm close.

 

“Yes!” she says one more time, it trailing off into a breathy silence as an orgasm hits her and takes her breath away. 

 

He moans as he feels her body pulsate around his cock.

 

Linda inhales again, a deep and needed inhalation that precedes a set of soft moans. She reaches down and rubs her clit, trying to squeeze out more from her orgasm.

 

When she is done, she reaches up and grabs Amenadiel hand, moving it from her neck. He sits back, and she turns her body, forcing him to slide out of her.

 

She turns her back to him and kicks her knees up, presenting herself to him.

 

He moves back slightly to position himself before sliding into her again from behind.

 

He shuts his eyes, followed by a pleased moan. This was his favorite position, and she knew that.

 

He grabs hold of her hips. She pushes back onto him before pulling away, doing the work for him. He watches as he disappears into her pussy only to have her slowly slide him out again. He raises a hand and smacks her on the ass, eliciting a pleased laugh from her.

 

“Are you going to do it?” she asks.

 

“Mmm,” he hums, leaning forward and placing a hand on her hip, and the other on her lower back, forcing her face into the covers while keeping her ass positioned where he wanted it.

 

She lets out a moan as this allows him to sink deeper into her.

 

“Fuck, she exclaims as she reaches a hand between her legs and begins to rub her clit again. He places both hands on her hips to keep her steady as he thrusts into her, the speed and force of his thrust becoming more powerful and quicker.

 

He groans through each one as its very clear he is letting himself get lost in that feeling. Suddenly, his wings pop out and extend to their full span before slowly collapsing behind him. They sit on his back, and Amenadiel has little interest in hiding them.

 

Linda smiles through her moans. She knew what that meant. It meant he was here, in the moment with her. That he was enjoying himself, letting himself go. Not focused on hiding who he was, but embracing it to all its potential. She wanted that, him; all of him.

 

“Fuck me!” she pleads.

 

He grunts, and continues to slide in and out of her, his testicles slapping against her with each thrust, and sending an audible clap throughout the room.

 

“Shit,” she says breathlessly as she feels herself about to cum again.

 

“Don’t stop,” she says.

 

He grunts as he thrusts, feeling his own orgasm nearing.

 

She gasps as she crests that hill again, wildly rubbing her clit, and lets out an extended moan. Her moans and her body again pulsating around his cock sends him over the edge, and he inhales sharply before letting out a moan as he spills himself into her.

 

“Ohh,” he says, his thrusting now sporadic, matching each wave of his orgasm. She continues to rub herself, now silent as she rides her orgasm and enjoys the new warmth of his cum inside of her.

 

He collapses forward onto her body, his cock still inside her, and begins to kiss her shoulder blades softly. Slowly, his wings disappear into his body as she rocks against him.

 

They sit like this for a moment, coming down from their own orgasms until he pulls away from her and lays down onto her bed, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.

 

She lays flat on her stomach, her hand still between her legs, gently rubbing herself. He turns to her, and she watches him before smiling and flipping onto her back as well.

 

They lay in silence for a moment, both panting and staring at the ceiling.

 

“I missed you,” he says between breaths.

 

“I know,” she says smiling.

 

When their breathing has gone back to normal, he turns to her, and she turns to him. She smiles and props herself up on her arm before placing a hand on his chest, just to feel his muscles.

 

“Are you hungry?” she asks.

 

He chuckles to himself and nods.

 

“You know I won’t say no to your cooking,” he says.

 

“Mm, I’ll make us some French toast,” she says, rolling herself off the bed and heading to the bedroom door,” You’re going to need your energy.”

 

He smiles as she turns and exits the bedroom.

 

He lays there for a moment, a smile on his face before it begins to fall. 

 

He props himself up on his elbows and turns to the door.

 

“Linda,” he calls to her.

 

“Hmm?” she says from the living room.

 

“You should pee first.”

 

“Right,” she says quickly returning to the bedroom and walking past the bed into the bathroom, “Right, yes. Made that mistake once, never again.”

 

He laughs to himself and collapses back onto the bed.

 

\--

It’s the middle of the night, and inside the penthouse of LUX, Lucifer lays in his bed, the covers off, and his body fully nude. He lays with two metal cups full of water tucked between his neck and shoulder on both sides. It is clear that at some point, these cups were filled with ice, but that ice has long since melted.

 

His eyes are closed, but even now, he is restless as his eyes dart back and forth beneath his eyelids.

 

Suddenly, he sits straight up in bed, unable to breathe, knocking the cups over and spilling the water onto the thin silk sheets. His eyes are solid white, and he glances around, coming to terms with what is happening to him. 

 

_What was happening to him?_

 

He turns to look at the clock as the brown in his eyes starts to seep back into his pupils. It was the middle of the night, and the sweat on his brow was an indication he wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon. He turns and plants his feet on the floor before running his fingers through his hair and sighing.

 

He was so tired mentally, and physically his body was weary. All he wanted to do was sleep, despite not needing it. Did he need it? 

 

He felt like he  _needed_  it.

 

He doesn’t know whether he wants to scream or weep. Perhaps both. Everything hurts, everything is uncomfortable. It was like his body was no longer his. It didn’t do as it was told, and the heat within his core was troubling, to say the least.

 

His stomach growls, and he reaches up to place a hand on his stomach. 

Perhaps he was too hungry to sleep? But he was always hungry. 

 

Would he ever sleep?

 

He turns to the spilled cups on his bed and grabs them before standing and shuffling towards the bar. He descends the steps from his bedroom and crosses behind the bar before setting the cups on the counter. 

 

He slides the door to the freezer open and reaches for the scoop handle. The second he grabs it he pauses. 

 

Something didn’t feel right.

 

He looks up to see a figure sitting in the chair in his living room. It stares at him with static behind deep white eyes.

 

Lucifer grunts in disapproval.

 

“You again,” he says, scooping a hefty scoop of ice before dropping it into one of the metal cups.

 

“It is strange,” God says, the voice not at all his own but instead the poor man he’s chosen to inhabit.

 

“I’ve seen this moment several times before, but experiencing it is … it’s different, more tangible. I believe this to be what the mortals would call Deja vu.”

 

He stares at the couch before running his hands down the wood of the armrest.

 

“Oh, I do miss having my own flesh,” he says.

 

He looks up at Lucifer, who stares at him with a weighty disinterest.

 

“Oak,” he says, his fingertips feeling every millimeter, “I can see every second of this chair’s life. From the seed planted to the tree growing, the lumberyard and finally to the factory where it has been turned into this …quite comfortable seating arrangement.”

 

Lucifer puts the cup to his neck and walks around the bar, still completely nude. God looks at him, not at all concerned by his nudity. Instead, he seems rather pleased.

 

“Unfortunately, I don’t yet have a deity proof alarm system,” Lucifer says.

 

“So, forgive me if I seem upset that you continuously barge into my apartment as if you own the place.”

 

“Ownership is a concept I don’t quite understand,” God says, “how can you own yourself?”

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes and shakes his head, “I loathe you.”

 

God laughs and shakes his head before standing slowly and crossing his arms in front of his body.

 

“You know, very few things spark enjoyment for me, what with knowing everything that is and will be,” he says.

 

“So, you’ve mentioned,” Lucifer says with disinterest, “ad nauseam. You know, it’s almost starting to sound like bragging.”

 

“Mmm,” God hums, nodding and ignoring his clear annoyance, “Still, it is interesting that this should be the route you’ve chosen.”

 

Lucifer continues to stare at him with disinterest. He closes his eyes, trying to stave off the heat of anger rising in him. He didn’t have the energy or interest to speak with Father right now.

 

“In only a few of the possibilities of this moment do you wake and move to the bar. In others, you continue to sleep, albeit a restless sleep,” God continues.

 

 “In one instance, you even manage to have a  _quite_  intimate dream,” he says pausing.

 

 “I’m actually glad you didn’t choose that instance. That would have been rather … disagreeable for me as you could imagine.”

 

“What do you want?” Lucifer says, a flatness in his voice and indicates he’s already had enough of his father’s presence.

 

He had hated him for what he assumed was Father ignoring him. Now he had nothing but Father’s attention and wish he would go back to ignoring Lucifer. 

 

God pauses and turns his head away, “Huh, I must be early again.”

 

He turns to Lucifer, “You can imagine how time might be problematic for me.”

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, none of that making sense.

 

“I suppose my excitement is making me illogical,” he says.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “More than usual, I take it?”

 

“Mmm,” God says, nodding, no longer able to ignore Lucifer’s annoyance, “You are not yet one for conversation, I suppose.”

 

“Not with you. Not right now, or ever for that matter,” Lucifer says, turning and moving back behind the bar.

 

“I’ve come to see if you were ready to accept your task, but I can see you are still rather … unfinished. To ask now would be unfair as I assume you will say no and ... well … I’ve already mentioned I will not accept a no.”

 

Lucifer pauses and narrows his eyes.

 

“Unfinished?” he asks.

 

 “You are cooking from the inside,” God says, “I can see it.”

 

Lucifer nods, “Rather unpleasantly, I might add. You wouldn’t happen to know why?”

 

God smiles and chuckles to himself. He turns and eyes the bookcase against the wall before approaching it.

 

“You are the one who decided to tempt the fires of the heavens. Not I. I would imagine it’s still working it’s magic, burning out the sin from the inside.”

 

Lucifer sighs, his patience completely ran dry.

 

“What do you _want_?!” he yells, “Why are you here?”

 

God reaches for an old book, one inscribed with an ancient language. He opens it, his fingers tracing the letters on the paper. He hums to himself, pleased. He turns his head to Lucifer, who still waits on an answer, and then closes the book before sliding it back into place.

 

“I told you, I’ve come to see if you are ready,” he says, crossing back into the living room, “for my next task.”

 

“Does it look like I am ready for anything?” Lucifer says, removing the cup from his neck just long enough for the heat to start developing in his core again.

 

God smiles. God turns around and sits back into the chair, then crosses his legs.

 

“Well, we will just have to wait.”

 

Lucifer scoffs and heads back behind the bar. 

 

“Words can’t express my disinterest in whatever it is you have planned, Father. In fact, I am starting to get quite annoyed with your insistence on involving me in whatever it is.”

 

Lucifer reaches down and grabs the scoop before scooping another pile of ice into the second cup he has sitting on the counter.

 

“If you didn’t get the memo, you had me tossed from the heavens. What would make you think I had any interest in you when it is clear you did not have an interest in me and still,  _to this day_ , have no interest in what I want. It’s all about you, you, you. What  _you_ desire, what  _you_  want.”

 

Lucifer grabs the second cup and tucks it beneath his underarms before coming from around the bar again.

 

“Enough is enough, “Lucifer says, “we have fought and still fight about a lot of things. Call it a difference of opinion, yeah? Still, I ask of you, just … just go away.  _Leave me be_.”

 

God looks at Lucifer, staring with no facial expression. He stares for way too long. He stares until the anger in Lucifer’s veins dissipates into something else, anxiousness. 

 

Having Father’s sole attention for this long was never a good thing. He tries to stand up straight, to evoke some sense of power and authority, but it is difficult. Not when God is looking at him like this, looking through him.

 

God tilts his head and narrows his eyes.

 

“You’re tired,” God says finally.

 

“Yes, I’d like to go back to sleep,” Lucifer says, his body collapsing onto the stool behind him, “You can see how your presence makes that challenging? Yeah?”

 

“I thought you loved a challenge?” God says.

 

Lucifer pauses and looks at him. His eyebrows furrow.

 

“And I thought you loved me,” he says, “It seems our understanding of each other has always been poor.”

 

There is a silence there. God just watches him as if waiting, gauging.

 

God slowly stands, “I was not referring to a mortal sleep, Samael. I sense that deep within yourself you grow weary.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head. He wants to say no, he was fine; everything was fine, but he couldn’t lie.

 

He was … drained. His bones ached, his body was always hot, everyone annoyed him, and the one thing that could have given him any clarity had been stripped from him. He was useless, in every form of it, and he was just …. Exhausted.

 

God smiles. He stares at Lucifer for a second.

 

“Do you want to know?” he asks.

 

Lucifer’s eyes turn to him. They stare at one another for a moment.

 

“Do you?” God asks again.

 

“What-” he asks, his voice quivering, “What am I becoming?”

 

 “Answering that question means you accept my task,” God says, walking towards him slowly.

 

“Are you prepared for that?”

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes. He scoffs and turns his head away. He sits down on a nearby barstool.

 

_Of course._

 

Of course, he couldn’t just get a straight answer. It was always a caveat with Father. Never just an answer for an answer’s sake. Always manipulation. Always something in return. Always something he wanted and never something Lucifer wanted.

 

“Get out,” Lucifer says, his voice tired and angry.

 

God stops where he stands. Lucifer turns to him, and they stare at one another again.

 

God’s eyes narrow.

 

“You still think you have any control here,” he says as if he were just figuring that out.

 

 It’s an odd tone to hear in the voice of God.

 

God stares on to Lucifer. This was a curious route, indeed. It was not his preferred route, but a useful one nonetheless.

 

“This is not your world to control Samael,” he says, “When will you learn that my will must always be done? You must do as I say.”

 

Lucifer stands up, a fire igniting in his eyes.

 

“I am not your toy!” he says. 

 

The ice in the cups placed onto his body begins to melt faster.

 

“When will you get that through your head?!” he yells, “You may have the earth and the skies, the animals and mortals, but you do not have me! I am not yours to control, to manipulate, to do as you please! You think because you cast me out, had me live with demons and mortals that I am somehow repentant? That I am somehow going to bow to your every whim?”

 

God tilts his head curiously watching the flame ignite in Lucifer’s eyes. Lucifer stares on at his seeming disinterest, and it only makes him angrier.

 

“I made a mistake,” he continues, “and I’ve paid for that in blood! How long will you make me suffer?”

 

God stares at him in silence. They stand there for a moment as a smile creeps onto the face of God. Lucifer watches the corners of his mouth, and which each new smile line, a confusion falls onto Lucifer’s face. 

 

Then his eyes widen as he realizes what he just said. The fire in his eye dies down.

 

_He made a mistake._

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. He had spoken that out loud.

 

He made a  _mistake_. 

 

God watches him as if staring into his thoughts, despite not being in a body that can handle that.

 

“You being here is not an accident, is it? Lucifer asks, putting two and two together.

 

God smiles and nods, “Everything is as it should be.”

 

“So, you lied to me,” he says, his nostrils flaring as every statement God made to him tonight comes back to him.

 

“If I told you I came to help you on your journey, to free you from that truth, would you have believed me? Or would you have fought me every step of the way?” God asks.

 

Lucifer stares at him, already knowing the answer.

 

“To believe me to be a fool is to believe _you_  have the answers; the truth. And you do, but sometimes the ideas are sweeter when you believe them to be your own.”

 

Lucifer scoffs and shakes his head, his shoulders falling in defeat. 

 

“You ask me if I am tired, father. Yes, I am. I am tired of you and your plans and your unclear tasks and agendas. I am tired of being left in the dark,” Lucifer says finally, his voice threatening to betray the turbulence in his spirit and body.

 

 “You try and pretend like you’re some all-knowing, all-powerful, all-loving deity, but you’re not. If you were all-loving, you wouldn’t have tossed a third of your children into hell. You wouldn’t … continue to manipulate and control us like puppets! “

 

God again watches Lucifer, a calm and disinterested look on his face.

 

“You would admit when you were wrong,” Lucifer continues, “and you, right now, in this moment are wrong. It's not right to come in here when you please and ask …no  _tell_  me to do something for you after you kicked me out.  _You_ kicked  _me_  out. Remember? Because I do. Every single day of my existence, I remember.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head and tosses the cups aside, the metal no longer cools him as the water inside is now room temperature and warm.

 

“You threw me away if my memory serves me correct. Right? So, you don’t get to ask me for favors or help. You don’t get to tell me what to do. If you want me to help you, then apologize to me. Tell me you are sorry for what you did.”

 

God tilts his head, “For what I did?”

 

“Yes!” Lucifer says, “Own up to it.”

 

God furrows his eyebrows, “Samael, I do nothing but offer the path. It is you who chose to walk it.”

 

“That is not the truth!” Lucifer says.

 

“That is, “God says, his eyes furrowed in confusion, “everything is of your own doing Samael.”

 

“Tell the truth!” he yells, his core heating up, his voice guttural and deep. His chest begins to rise and fall quickly as a charred red skin burns itself into existence. It sounds like he is having trouble breathing.

 

God stands by, watching as if unmoved.

 

Lucifer pants, the heat in his body almost too much as his devil form burns across his body.

 

He collapses to his knees, panting like a dog suffering from heat exhaustion.

 

God continues to watch him.

 

Lucifer turns his eyes up to God, a blue flame burning itself into his eyes.

 

“Are you happy?” he asks, a sick and deep growl in his voice, “are you happy with what you’ve done to me?”

 

God steps forward and slowly kneels by Lucifer. He reaches out and places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Samael,” he says, stability to his voice that is both comforting and scary. 

 

It rings in Lucifer’s ears and tosses him back into a comfort he didn’t know he was missing. The comfort of a young Samael, laid in a webbed hammock next to his brothers and sisters as they slept. Hibernating while their bodies grew exponentially, lying beneath a canopy of nebula and soothed to sleep by the sounds of humming parents.

 

“I only offer the path,” God says, his eyes trying to instill the absolute truth of his words.

 

Lucifer continues to pant as God stands and steps away from him.

 

“I will do you a favor and return this body to its rightful home before I leave,” he says, turning to walk towards the balcony.

 

“I will return when you are done,” he says.

 

God casually walks towards the sliding door and steps out onto the balcony. He closes his eyes and inhales the air. His eyes open, and he stares out towards the Los Angeles night.

 

He truly did miss this. He turns to see a panting Lucifer still on the ground.

 

“Don’t fight me,” he says cautiously, “for once, don’t fight.”

 

Lucifer stares up at him, defiance in his eyes. God turns back to the city, and in the blink of an eye, he is gone.

 

Lucifer collapses onto the floor and turns onto his back, his chest still panting as a heat crawls up his veins.

 

He needed relief. 

 

 _Anything_  to make it stop. 

 

\--

 

It’s mid-morning when Chloe walks into Dan’s hospital room. She pauses and takes note as every tabletop and space that was once empty is now covered in flowers and gift baskets. Dan looks up from a card in his hand and smiles.

 

“I guess people do like me,” he says with a laugh.

 

Chloe smiles and slowly walks into the room.

 

“Where is all this from”? she asks.

 

“From the guys at the precinct. I guess word got out,” he says.

 

Chloe sighs and shakes her head. Ella. She had wanted to keep this a secret as much as possible, at least until Dan had some movement in his legs but …

 

She pauses.

 

“I didn’t tell them,” she says to Dan, “it must have been Ella.”

 

Dan shrugs and sets the card on the table.

 

“It’s fine. It’s actually pretty nice. I was getting bored watching the price is right reruns.”

 

Chloe smiles and moves to a nearby chair to sit.

 

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

 

“Better than ever!” he says, “My hands feel like they are back to normal, I can feel my dick again, and just this morning a cute nurse came and gave me a sponge bath.”

 

Chloe chuckles.

 

“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she says.

 

“And!” Dan says, setting the card in his hand to the side, “watch this.”

 

Dan casts the covers off his legs. Chloe stands up and moves to the side of his bed as Dan begins to visibly strain.

 

“What … what are you doing?” she asks.

 

“I can move my toes now, kinda,” he says.

 

Chloe turns her gaze to his toes to see them still and not moving.

 

“Dan, you don’t have to- “ she begins

 

“Wait! Just wait,” he says, his focus still on his toes.

 

Chloe crosses her arms, and they sit watching for what feels like forever. 

 

Suddenly a toe jumps as if being hit by an electrical current, then goes back to being still.

 

“See!” he says.

 

Chloe chuckles, “That’s … that’s great,” she says, not entirely convinced but willing to back him up on this.

 

“Maybe if we stand here for another hour, we can get it to move again,” she says.

 

“Funny,” he says sarcastically, “I know it’s not much, but … it’s something, right?”

 

She smiles and nods, “It’s something.”

 

She moves to sit back in her chair and sighs. Dan covers his legs and leans back again before looking around the room.

 

Chloe takes a look at all the flowers and cards as well and smiles. Her smile begins to fade as she remembers what she needed to talk to Dan about.

 

“I uhm … I’m going to go back in to work tomorrow,” she says, “You think you can manage without me?”

 

Dan laughs, “of course. I’m just a few more sponge baths away from being myself.”

 

Chloe shakes her head and smiles.

 

“But really, is that okay?”

 

Dan waves her off, “Chloe, you’ve done enough. It’s just a waiting game at this point. Besides, you were here when I needed you the most … that’s all that matters.”

 

She smiles.

 

“Thank you,” he says genuinely, “I … I don’t know many people who would have been there for me.”

 

Chloe nods, and they sit in silence for a moment before Dan inhales sharply at the awkwardness of the silence and sits forward.

 

“I can’t wait to get out of here Chloe. Honestly. I mean, It feels like I’ve been given a second chance, and I do not intend to waste it.”

 

Chloe nods, “That’s good, Dan.”

 

“Bungie Jumping, sky diving, I mean … you name it, I’m there. There’s so much in life I haven’t experienced.”

 

“Well, let’s maybe save the death-defying actions for after you learn how to walk again.”

 

“I’m going to run!” Dan says with a smile.

 

Chloe chuckles and nods her head.

 

“At the very least, maybe do that a day you don’t have Trixie? I’d like to not have to worry about my eight-year-old careening from an airplane in the sky.”

 

Dan looks at her and furrows his eyebrows.

 

“Trixie??” he asks, “No, Chloe … I’ve got to experience the world. I can’t do that with a child following me around.”

 

Chloe’s smile falls, and she pauses.

 

“What?”

 

“Chloe,” he says, “I’ve been given a new lease on life. I shouldn’t be alive; I shouldn’t be here right now talking to you. I mean, I understand that I have responsibilities and I intend to take care of those but … I have my own life to live.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Dan, I don’t know what you’re saying. Are you not going to take Trixie anymore during the weekends?”

 

Dan laughs, “And waste my weekend?”

 

Chloe looks at him, a befuddled look on her face as if she can’t believe what she is hearing. She doesn’t know what to say. 

 

“I don’t understand,” she says, “I … I thought you loved taking Trixie on the weekends?”

 

“Well yeah,” he says, “but …you said it yourself. Can’t exactly take a kid with you when you’re doing dangerous stuff.”

 

“She’s not some kid, Dan. She’s your daughter. She’s going to be devastated if I tell her you aren’t going to spend time with her on the weekends anymore.”

 

“Chloe, she’ll get over it,” he says, “she’s a kid.”

 

“No,” she says standing up, “You were up my ass about dating Lucifer and having him watch her and now you’re telling me you want to dump your responsibilities to … to fall from the sky?”

 

Dan looks at her, his eyes looking flat like they’ve lost their luster. She stares at him, waiting for a response.

 

“Well?” she asks.

 

“What?” he says

 

“Aren’t you going to defend yourself? Say that isn’t what you meant? Tell me I’m being crazy?”

 

He shakes his head no, “No, you summed it up pretty good.”

 

Chloe shakes her head and rolls her eyes, “You know what,” she says, turning to the door, “I’m going to leave. You’re going through some stuff, and you’re in a different headspace, but I’m not going to listen to this crap.”

 

She storms out, leaving Dan sitting there on the bed looking unmoved. 

 

He turns back to the card he placed on the table and picks it up before rereading it. He smiles to himself. 

 

People _really_  like him.

 

\--

 

It’s almost noon, and Ella is busy inside her lab, getting the last tests ran before she turns over her preliminary reports. She leans up against her lab table as music blares out from beneath a pair of headphones over her ears. 

 

She swipes through documents on her tablet while, on the far side of the room, a machine spins and whirs before stopping and blinking green. 

 

Ella turns to it and watches it for a second before it begins to spit out printed pages with numbers and percentages on it. She smiles and sets the tablet on the counter.

 

She approaches it, while dancing, and presses a button on it that unlocks a lid and pulls out as orange-colored test tube with spinning liquid inside.

 

She smiles and sets the test tube to the side before grabbing another tube from the right part of the machine and putting it inside before re-locking the lid and pressing a button. The machine whirrs to life again, and a yellow light blinks.

 

She dances over to the printed pages and glances at it before pausing. She reaches up and pulls the headphones off her ears. The music that was isolated to the phones starts to play loudly as she stares at the page, her eyebrows furrowed. 

 

She walks over to the lab table and grabs her tablet before turning to the screen behind her. There she pulls up a data sheet with bars and grids on it. She compares it to the sheet from the printer, looking back and forth between both.

 

“Huh,” she says to herself.

 

\--

 

At the top of the steps to the bullpen, Maze proudly descends one foot in front of the other. Behind her, or more like attached to her via a pair of handcuffs and a strongly placed grip, is a middle-aged man with a leather biker vest and muscles that scream steroids. He frowns, foaming anger beneath his bloodied expression. 

 

She makes it to the bottom of the steps and turns to an officer sitting nearby. He looks up at her, then to the man by her side and sighs.

 

“How many times do we have to tell you to not rough them up Maze?” he asks as he stands and grabs the guys arm.

 

 Maze lets go of him and straightens her jacket.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, “I found him like this.”

 

The officer sighs and turns to the arrested man.

 

“Did she do this to you?” he asks.

 

The man looks at him, then turns to Maze. She glares at him, daring him to say anything other than no.

 

He turns back to the man and rolls his eyes.

 

“No,” he says flatly, “I did this to myself.”

 

Maze smiles and crosses her arms.

 

“See?” she says.

 

The officer shakes his head as if disappointed, then turns to pull the guy into a separate room for booking.

 

“By the way,” he says before entering the room, “It’s re-certification time. Don’t forget.”

 

He closes the door, and Maze stands there with a strange look on her face.

 

Re-certification? What does that have to do with her? 

 

She shrugs and casually walks over and into Ella’s lab where Ella is busy typing on her keyboard.

 

Ella looks up just as Maze crosses over and leans against her table.

 

“Please don’t tell me you want to buy another game,” Ella says briefly looking at Maze before turning back to her machine.

 

“No,” Maze says, shrugging,” I was just coming to say hey.”

 

Ella smiles, “Oh … Awww”

 

“Don’t,” Maze says.

 

Ella laughs and turns to a folder on her desk before typing up information from that folder.

 

“Hey, what is re-certification time?” she asks.

 

Ella looks at her oddly.

 

“What”

 

“Just brought in a perp. Officer said it was re-certification time. What does that mean?”

 

“Oh!” Ella says, “It means you’re due to re-certify.”

 

Maze looks at Ella as if that answer didn’t help.

 

Ella smiles and slides away from the computer, turning her attention completely to Maze.

 

“Every year bounty hunters have to recertify with the state to say they understand the laws, know how to use caution with dangerous perps and can defend themselves. Common things. It’s basically your Bounty Hunter test over again.”

 

Maze shakes her head, “Bounty Hunter test? They have a test for tracking humans?”

 

Ella pauses.

 

“What? Please tell me you took the test to get certified when you started this job.”

 

Maze shrugs, “No test, I just told them what I wanted to do, and they just let me do it.”

 

Ella narrows her eyes.

 

“So, this entire time, you haven’t been certified?”

 

Maze shakes her head.

 

Ella sighs, “No, no, no, this is bad. If the Lieutenant finds out you’re not certified she’s going to terminate you completely! You  _have_  to take that test.”

 

“ _Or,_  I could just do what I did to the old Lieutenant and make her see things my way.”

 

Ella shakes her head, “Please don’t do that. Maze, I’m begging you, just take the test. Your way will never work with this Lieutenant.”

 

Maze smiles and nods.

 

“It always works,” she says as she stands up, “You humans are weak and easily frightened. No offense.”

 

Ella walks around the lab table and stands in front of Maze.

 

“Rude! But seriously, Maze,” she says, “please just  _take_  the test.”

 

 Maze steps around her and Exit’s Ella’s lab.

 

Ella watches as Maze storms into Natalie’s office. 

 

This isn’t going to end well.

 

\--

 

Inside Lieutenant Edward’s office, Natalie sits at her desk, initialing closed case files as they are ready to be archived. She looks up just as Maze storms into her office and stands in front of her desk, her arms crossed in wait.

 

Natalie looks up at her, not knowing why Maze is standing in front of her desk. She then leans back in her chair.

 

“Is there something I can do for your Ms. Smith?” Natalie asks.

 

Maze nods her head, “Yeah. It’s re-certification time.”

 

“That it is,” Natalie says, the tone of her voice indicating a curiosity about why Maze wants to bring it up.

 

“So, is there something you need to check off or …?” 

 

Natalie chuckles and places her hands in her lap, “Ms. Smith the re-certification is a process that happens outside homicide. You’ll need to coordinate with your department to take the re-certification tests.”

 

Maze looks at her, narrowing her eyes. She leans onto Natalie’s desk, placing both hands onto it. Natalie looks at Maze’s hands then back up to Maze who intently stares at her.

 

“ _or_ , you could check me as recertified, and I won’t have to hurt you,” Maze says.

 

Natalie stares at Maze, her eyes squinting in silence. She inhales and nods before leaning forward, closer to Maze. So close that Maze backs up slightly, confusion on her face as to why this human wasn’t terrified.

 

“Ms. Smith, are you under the impression that I would ignore policies put in place by the department and state for the safety of our consultants and citizens? All for your own personal benefit?” she asks.

 

Maze shrugs, “When you put it like that, you make it sound like you won’t do it.”

 

Natalie nods and slowly stands, forcing Maze to stand up straight so that Maze and her are at the same height.

 

“Ms. Smith, I do indeed appreciate your work for the department. Your record of captures is quite impressive.”

 

“I know,” Maze says smugly.

 

“That being said, there is much room for improvement.”

 

Maze squints, “English,” she says.

 

Natalie smiles and nods before pulling away from her desk and turning to a file cabinet behind her. She opens a file cabinet and reaches in to pull out a thick folder labeled “Mazikeen Smith.”

 

She carries it to her desk and slams it down on the table, illustrating how heavy it is.

 

“Do you know what this is?” she asks.

 

Maze glances down at the file then looks back at Maze.

 

“All the murderers I brought back to you guys? You’re welcome.”

 

“It’s all the complaints we’ve gotten about you,” Natalie says opening the file and browsing through it, “Perps, civilians … we even have a few from Officers.”

 

Maze squints and turns to the document. There are several tabs of different colors poking out from the stack of pages. Everything looks neat and organized like Natalie had taken her time.

 

Maze is looking at it too long, so Natalie slams the file shut. Calmly she takes a seat back at her desk and crosses her legs. Her stance is powerful yet patient, and if Maze weren’t annoyed by her insistence on following rules, she might find it slightly attractive.

 

“There is something to be said for turning a blind eye to some of your more … noticeable behavioral traits Ms. Smith, and I am more than willing to do so because your track record of closing cases seems to proceed you. However, re-certification is _not_  an option. It is a legal obligation. Without it, your duties as a bounty hunter are void and - most importantly - illegal. The last thing this department needs is an uncertified bounty hunter smacking around fugitives.”

 

Maze crossing her arms.

 

“So, you aren’t going to help me?”

 

“Do you want a murderer you catch to get away because of the legality of how they were captured?” she asks.

 

“That’s a no on helping me then?” Maze says, unbothered by what she is saying.

 

Natalie scoffs and chuckles to herself. She leans back in her chair and sighs.

 

“I’ll help you by not taking this file to Human Resources,” she says, “ but the re-certification is out of my hands.”

 

Mae shakes her head, “Certification was never an issue,” she says, “I didn’t get this job by certifying.”

 

Natalie looks at her, a stillness in her spirit that gives Maze pause.

 

“I really wish you hadn’t told me that,” Natalie says shaking her head and looking off in the distance. 

 

She pauses for a second as if thinking it through. 

 

As if thinking of all the paperwork she’s going to have to do if the DA ever finds out the department allowed an unlicensed bounty hunter to claim reward money, let alone assault fugitives. She shakes her head, an uncomfortable knowledge in her head.

 

“Oh, I _really_  wish you hadn’t told me that,” she says, turning back to Maze.

 

Maze uncrosses her arms, understanding the tone in Natalie’s voice.

 

“I just made things worse, didn’t I?”

 

Natalie nods, a grim look on her face.

 

“Ms. Smith, I’m going to have to suspend you effective immediately. In addition to you needing to be certified as a bounty hunter, you’ve also managed to create a decent amount of work for me. Someone somewhere dropped the ball, and I intend to find out who. Thank you for ruining my weekend.”

 

Maze grunts in disapproval.

 

“You humans are the worst,” she says storming out.

 

Natalie looks at her as she leaves.

 

That’s an odd sentiment.

 

Natalie leans forward, her hands over her face as she tries to process what happened. 

 

It was bad enough the department had a horrible track record with Lieutenants, unclosed cases, and extensive employee fraternization … but an unlicensed bounty hunter?

 

She feels a headache coming on and starts to rub her temples. She lets out a deep sigh before turning to her purses and rooting through it.

 

She finds what she needs, a phone with a red case, and pulls it out. She goes to the contacts and still there is only one contact here. She dials the phone and waits as it rings.

 

The phone clicks and a male voice answers, “I was just thinking about you,” Elliot says.

 

“I need to play,” she says.

 

He chuckles warmly, “It appears we are in the same boat Mistress. Tonight?”

 

Natalie sighs, “I can’t do tonight. Tomorrow?”

 

“Usual time?” he asks.

 

“Of course,” she responds.

 

“Excellent. I’ll gather a list. Until tomorrow,” he says.

 

The phone line clicks, and she clutches the phone in her hand before looking up to see Ella staring at her. 

 

Quickly she shoves the red phone into her pocketbook and goes back to her work.

 

\--

 

Inside his apartment, a fully devil’d Lucifer moves to sit himself inside a bathtub full of ice – his teeth chattering. He adjusts himself, sinking further into the tub. The cold cools his body, and his devil form slowly disappears, leaving his pink and raw flesh.

 

He lays back in the tub, it is cold, but it’s the most comfortable he’s been in days. The phone rings, and he turns to see Chloe’s name on the caller ID.

 

He reaches out of the tub and answers it before adjusting himself again.

 

“Detective,” he says, the air escaping his lungs looking like he is standing outside in a blizzard.

 

“Hey,” she says, the tone of her voice indicating she is upset, “you didn’t call me last night. Is everything okay?”

 

“Of course,” he says, sinking further into the tub.

 

Chloe hears the ice moving on the other line and pauses.

 

“I’d ask if you felt it was too early to be drinking, but I’d just get a-,” she says, before putting on a fake British accent, “’ Darling, I’m immortal!’”

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows.

 

“I don’t sound like that,” he says.

 

Chloe chuckles on the other line. The line goes silent for a moment as Lucifer’s body continues to cool.

 

“So …,” she says.

 

“My apologies Detective, I … I went to bed early.”

 

“That doesn’t sound like you,” she says, a concern in her voice.

 

“Yes, well, I’ve been feeling a little off as of late.”

 

“What’s going on, Lucifer?” she asks, “You’re wearing shorts, you’re running a fever, you’re …”

 

She lowers her voice almost as a whisper, “not getting hard … are you sick? Do angels get sick?”

 

“Darling, I'm,” he begins to say before catching himself.

 

"You were going to say it, weren't you?" Chloe asks.

 

Chloe bursts out into laughter, and he sighs, not at all amused.

 

“Sorry, sorry … I just … you can talk to me, you know that, right?”

 

He nods, “I know,” he says.

 

The line goes silent again, and Chloe sighs.

 

“I’m going back into work tomorrow,” she says, “How have your cases been going?”

 

He raises an eyebrow, “Going?” he asks.

 

“Please tell me you’ve been going in to work,” she says.

 

“Darling, I’ve been preoccupied.”

 

“Lucifer!” she says, scolding him, “haven’t you been getting calls from the Lieutenant?”

 

He shrugs, “Detective. I do not believe you understand the –“

 

“I don’t want to hear it. I …  _God_ ,” she says.

 

“Language,” he warns her.

 

“Between you and Dan I don’t know which one is more frustrating.” She says.

 

Lucifer pauses and sits up in his tub, shifting the ice in his bath

 

“Daniel has been giving you trouble?” he asks.

 

“Yeah, he’s … I don’t know. I get it, he had a close call with death, and he’s feeling his second wind but, sometimes he can be such a … a ...”

 

“Douche?” he asks.

 

“An inconsiderate asshole.”

 

Lucifer nods, “So you would say he’s being selfish and only thinking about his desires and wants?”

 

“Yes,” Chloe says.

 

“And he doesn’t care who he hurts in the process?”

 

Chloe sighs, and suddenly her voice is lower, softer, sadder.

 

“Yeah, he’s going to break Trixie’s heart.”

 

Lucifer doesn’t like the sound of that, and the ice starts to melt faster as the growing discontent in his chest builds.

 

“I just … I hope he gets over this phase,” she says, “hopefully before he walks. Is that bad to say? At least when he’s in his bed, I don’t have to worry about him disappearing.”

 

 She lets go an exasperated sigh.

 

“Anyway, I just … I wanted to make sure you were okay. Maybe, I‘ll stop by tonight?” she says.

 

He chuckles to himself, “Darling be careful. I can be addictive.”

 

He can’t see her roll her eyes or hear it, but somehow he knows.

 

“ _Goodbye_  Lucifer,” she says, a smile in her voice.

 

She hangs up the phone, and Lucifer sets it back on the edge of his tub.

 

Slowly his smile fades, and he sits silently in the tub.

 

If Daniel was already being inconsiderate, there was little time left. They needed to find his soul soon.

 

Suddenly, the cooling ice helps his body reach a temperature that smacks him with the overwhelming desire to sleep. His skin was cold, but he can still feel the heat in his core raging. He tries to fight it, to stay awake. 

 

He turns to his phone, needing to call Amenadiel, but his arm won’t move; won't respond to his commands. He should be upset that yet another part of his body isn’t following commands, he  _wants_ to be upset. 

 

Yet, the anger in his body gives way to something much more urgent.

 

_Rest._

 

He needed rest.

 

Somehow there is an equilibrium there that locks weights to his eyes and forces his head to slowly drift backwards until he is in a bottomless, unconscious sleep.

 

\--

 

Inside her lab, Ella stands near the printer watching as sheets of paper spit out facts about her analysis. She stands next to it, her hand hovering over the warm and freshly printed pages as she waits for the last sheet to come out. Behind her, Chloe slowly enters the lab and folds the pair of sunglasses she was wearing before tucking them into the collar of her shirt.

 

“Hey Ella,” she says.

 

Ella halfway turns to see Chloe leaning up against her lab table.

 

“Hey! How’s Dan?” she says just as the last piece of paper slides out of the printer. She grabs it and starts to walk back to her lab table.

 

“He’s good, he’s doing good,” Chloe says, a lack of enthusiasm behind her words, “the uhm, the doctors say he’s on track to be released on Friday.”

 

Ella smiles, “That’s great!” she says as she approaches the counter and slides the papers into a manila folder. 

 

“So, you back yet or what?” she asks, “I thought you were on leave?”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Nope, not anymore. I come back fully tomorrow, but I’m just here to finish up some paperwork.”

 

Ella nods, “Well, you couldn’t have come back at a more perfect time. I got a case for you.”

 

Chloe laughs, “always something, huh?’

 

Ella nods and hands Chloe the papers.

 

“Middle-aged male, found in his apartment roughly 54 to 58 hours after time of death. Presents with symptoms of fatal anaphylaxis, no signs of forced entry.”

 

Chloe furrows her brow, “An allergic reaction? Ella, this isn’t a homicide.”

 

Ella nods, “Right? That’s what I thought, but I found some strange things at the apartment that warrant turning it over to homicide.”

 

Chloe sets the folder down on the table, “Okay, I’m listening.’

 

Ella smiles. This was her favorite part.

 

She picks up a tablet off the table and turns to the giant TV behind her.

 

“Victim presents with normal indicators of anaphylaxis,” she says as she pulls up an image of the man lying face down in his own vomit.

 

“Oh  _Jesus_ ,” Chloe says, not prepared to see that.

 

“Sorry, I should have warned you it was not pretty,” she says.

 

“You think?” Chloe says, turning her eyes back to the screen after a moment to prepare herself.

 

“Vomit, signs of inflammation,” she says as she clicks to another slide that shows a purple welt on the side of his neck.

 

 “I’ve yet to receive the coroner's report, but the presence of elevated levels of tryptase and Immunoglobulin E in the victim’s blood indicates a heightened immune response at time of death. We may find signs of bronchial or cardiovascular stress once we get the report.”

 

“A heart attack?” Chloe asks.

 

“Possibly. The important thing is the cause of death at this point is inconsequential. We  _know_  it’s an allergic reaction.”

 

“God, what happened to his face?” Chloe says, her hand going over her mouth. 

 

She’s seen a lot of gruesome ways to die, but … this is actually a first.

 

“Oh!” Ella says, unphased before switching the slide to an image of a cute cat on its belly in a bathroom.

 

“He had a cat. Cat’s, and really most domesticated animals, are famous for taking a bite out of bodies after a few days.”

 

Chloe raises her eyebrows as Ella flips through multiple images of the same cat.

 

“You uh … really liked that cat, huh?” Chloe asks with a smile.

 

“What?” Ella says turning to her, “he’s cute!”

 

Chloe chuckles to herself, her arms folded. Behind them, Lieutenant Edwards enters the lab.

 

“Detective Decker,” she says, “A word?”

 

Chloe and Ella turn to her as she enters the lab. 

 

Her eyes briefly go to the image of the cat on the screen, and she pauses. 

 

“What … please tell me you aren’t using lab equipment to view photos of cats? Don’t you have work to do?”

 

 “I was just showing Chloe the case I was working on before I sent it to you,” Ella says, “you know to get her input on whether or not it was right to give it to homicide.”

 

Natalie nods, “I see,” she says, her eyes turning back to the cat.

 

“As much as I appreciate the life of animals, Ms. Lopez, I highly doubt this is a job for the LAPD homicide. Perhaps a veterinarian?”

 

Ella turns back to the image of the cat on the screen.

 

“Oh no, this is the victim’s cat. I was just showing this,” she says as she flips back to the image of the man on the floor.

 

Natalie pauses, and all blood drains from her face.

 

Ella turns to her and sees the look on her face.

 

“Oh! Sorry,” she says, “ I should have warned you it was a little messy.”

 

Natalie turns her back to the screen, and stares forward at the ground before reaching up and holding her stomach.

 

 “I, uh,” she starts to say before cautiously glancing back at the image. 

Her eyes land on the image again. God,  _what happened to his face?_

 

 “Uhm,” she says again, her mouth suddenly filling with saliva as she tries to keep her breakfast down.

 

“As I was telling Detective Decker,” Ella says, suddenly in serious mode, “ the victim died of anaphylaxis. No official medical report but yet visual indicators and a quick blood sample are consistent with an allergic reaction.”

 

“What makes you think this is a homicide?” Natalie says, still not daring to turn around.

 

Ella smiles, “I was just getting to that. It’s just a few slides after the cat.”

 

Ella turns and flips the slides a few slides forward.

 

Natalie glances to make sure the image is gone before she turns fully and sees a picture of an open apartment window.

 

“Responding officers did initial interviews and found that neighbors claimed to have heard fighting the night of our victim’s death. I also found an ajar window near the fire escape. Now, I know it’s not enough evidence to suggest a homicide, but it is an entry and exit point for a possible suspect. I did sift for fingerprints and got a few off the window but they all came back as belonging to our victim.”

 

Ella clicks the slide over once more, and they are met with a driver's license photo for a Frederick Miles.

 

Suddenly, the whole world stands still, and Natalie is at its center. She is statuesque, and her posture does nothing to betray the turbulent sea that rages in her gut.

Her eyes widen, and she feels her heart beating fast, a panic brewing beneath her stony façade.

 

She knew this man.  _Mistress_  knew this man.

 

 “Frederick Miles,” Chloe says, her arms now crossed again as she takes this all in.

 

Ella nods.

 

“Single male, no previous records and employee at the Rocket Ship,” Ella says.

 

Chloe pauses and raises her eyebrows, “The sex shop?”

 

Ella and Chloe talk, paying no attention to the woman behind them who stands still like a deer in headlights. In her mind, she thinks about every moment she had spent with Fred. Every meet up, every time she had … punished him. Consensually, of course.

 

 _Oh god_ , would they think she was a prostitute? Or some sex worker? She never had intimate contact with a client, it was purely …physical. 

 

That sounded bad. _This whole thing was bad._

 

Her eyes snap up to the Drivers License on the screen.

 

Had she covered her tracks? What if he had spoken to someone about her? Or written? He wasn’t a writer, was he?

She had trained her sub’s well; to respect her privacy, and to not speak of her. But … suddenly she is questioning everything. 

 

Ella and Chloe’s backs are turned to her as they view the images and talk, but she suddenly feels exposed … or close to it.

Ella nods and flips the slide to the images of the items she collected from his medicine cabinet.

 

“Very sexually free,” Ella says, “judging by the number of condoms he had left.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Ella …”

 

“I’m getting there!” she says.

 

“I wish you would get their quicker,” Natalie says from behind them.

 

Ella turns to her to see Natalie’s face still pale, and her arms crossed.

 

Ella nods and turns back to the slides.

 

“It’s clear our victim had allergies to something, enough that it warranted him a prescription for epi-pens,” she says, turning and pointing out the box of epi-pens.

 

“However, when I opened the box it was empty.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Okay, so he used his epi-pens and forgot to buy more.”

 

Natalie shakes her head and approaches the table, “Epi-pen users may do many insane things like still ingesting the food they are allergic to, but they don’t forget to pick up their meds.”

 

“That and the fact that this particular box was purchased just a few days before our victim’s death,” Ella says.

 

Chloe nods, her eyes drifting off as she thinks.

 

“Epi-pens aren’t some one time fix,” Chloe says, “They are only temporary. The injection is meant to buy you enough time to seek medical attention.”

 

Ella nods, “One step ahead of you. I’ve submitted for medical records, but I have a feeling that our victim here hadn’t gone to the hospital since his prescription was filled.”

 

“Mmm,” Chloe says gravely, “So somebody stole his epi-pens?"

 

Ella nods, “Easy way to murder someone. Poison them and take the antidote.”

 

“And neighbors heard him arguing with someone the night of his death,” Chloe adds.

 

Ella nods and turns to Natalie, who stands there still and silent. 

 

“Well?” Ella says.

 

Natalie turns to her and nods, “Huh? Yes… yes very good. I look forward to-” she begins, suddenly eager to leave the room.

 

To pretend like this wasn’t happening. 

Maybe if she distanced herself, pretending like she didn’t care, they wouldn’t know she knew him. They wouldn’t ask questions about -

Natalie pauses. 

It hits her like a brick truck, and her train of thought is derailed.

 

_She left a voicemail for Fred._

 

Her eyes move up to Ella, then to Chloe.

 

“To …,” she says, trying to reboot her brain, “To uhm … I look forward to getting updates from you about this case.”

 

Ella nods, “I’m still cataloging and submitting evidence from the scene. Hopefully, I’ll have a full report of my initial findings tomorrow when you come in Chloe,” Ella says turning her attention to Chloe mid-sentence. 

 

Chloe nods, and they all stand there awkwardly.

 

Chloe turns to Natalie,” Oh, did you want to talk to me about something Lieutenant?”

 

“Hmm?” Natalie says, knocked out of her train of thought, “Oh uhm. I was …”

 

She was going to tell Chloe about Mr. Morningstar. About him being on probation. About his contract with the LAPD being close to termination.

But now she can only think about Fred. About the voicemail. She needed someone on her side, in case …  _just in case_.

 

“I was going to ask you about Mr. Morningstar,” she says, “He’s been … absent for the past two days, and I was hoping you had a reasonable explanation as to why I can’t reach him.”

 

“Oh, he … he hasn’t been feeling well. Very sick.”

 

Natalie furrows her eyebrows, “Oh,” she says, “Well, I hope that he feels better, but please do speak with him about keeping an open line of communication. He is exceptionally close to being fired.”

 

Chloe nods,” I completely understand. We’ve both just been pretty off the past week and-”

 

“In fact,” Natalie says, interrupting, as if an idea just hit her that she really likes, “I think this case might be the perfect case for me to shadow you both.”

 

“Oh?” Chloe says, surprised by that, “O-Okay.”

 

Natalie nods, “Yes. I’d like to see how you two work together. It will also be a good opportunity to see Mr. Morningstar in action.”

 

“Yeah,” Chloe says, the tone of her voice confused. 

 

Was this a good thing? Or a bad thing?

Natalie leaves, and Chloe turns to Ella.

 

“Did that … did that seem weird to you?” Chloe asks.

 

“I guess she’s not the only one that wants to see Lucifer in action, huh?”

 

 Ella says, nudging her.

 

Chloe squints her eyes.

 

“Bad timing?” she says.

 

Chloe turns back to Natalie’s office, an unsettling feeling in her stomach.

 

“Did she seem … off to you?”

 

“She’s always off. When is she ever on?” Ella says before leaning closer to Chloe, “did you know she was a lesbian?”

\--

It is pitch black and silent until Lucifer opens his eyes. Only then is the darkness gone, and Lucifer is met with a familiar sight. 

 

_The mist._

 

It surrounds him with a stillness and silence that is uncomfortable and frightening.

He looks around, before shaking his head. 

He was tired of coming here. 

He turns his eyes to his feet, where the water that drips down his body hits the smooth grey and black pebbles. 

 

“Samael?” an echoed voice says. 

 

It sounds annoyed, perhaps even angry. Lucifer turns around, not shocked at all to find nothing but the mist.

 

“Why do you keep coming here?” it asks, frustrated.

 

Lucifer turns to the voice, again only met with mist.

 

“Who are you?!” Lucifer asks, knowing the question won’t get a response.

 

“You must find your answer Samael,” the voice says, “or we will decide for you.”

 

Lucifer turns behind him, hoping to catch anything but mist; only met with mist.

 

“Tell me who you are!” he says upset, “show yourself to me.”

 

“We are but whispers,” a voice behind him says. 

 

Lucifer turns and sprints through the fog, hoping to catch a glimpse – if only fleeting – of whoever is speaking to him. 

He runs, the pebbles shifting beneath his feet, and slowly the fog in front of him gets thinner, and silence is replaced by the distant sounds of crackling campfires.

He stops in his tracks, something feeling odd about where he is now. It isn’t silent, nor still, but alive - oddly alive.

The fog in front of him is thin now, and he can barely make out the form of a man standing a few yards away from him. He furrows his eyebrows and looks around as if this were a trick.

Cautiously he approaches the figure; a man standing on his own in the fog.

 

He approaches the man, his eyes stuck on the figure who -from behind – doesn’t appear to be anyone special. The man is completely nude and mumbling to himself. Lucifer can barely make out a tattoo on his arm.

 

“Hello?” he asks.

 

The figure doesn’t turn around, it just continues to mumble to itself as he approaches.

 

“Who are you?” Lucifer asks, continuing to approach him cautiously.

 

“Where are we?” Lucifer asks, when he doesn’t get an answer.

 

This too offers him no response.

 

\--

 

It’s evening when Chloe makes it to Lucifer’s penthouse. She stands in the elevator, weary from a day of paperwork and worrying about Dan.

A small smile comes to her face thinking about Lucifer, thinking about …him and her. About their bodies. About them being alone again. The elevator dings and the doors open. 

Chloe steps out into Lucifer’s penthouse and is immediately met with a wall of cold air. The apartment is absolutely frigid. She crosses her arms in front of her body, attempting to keep the warmth in.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks, stepping out into the living room. She looks around and doesn’t see him. 

 

“Lucifer, why is it so cold in here? It’s freezing!” she asks again to no response.

 

She approaches his bedroom and ascends the steps to find he isn’t in the chair by the window. She turns her head to the closet and doesn’t see him there either.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks, worried, before reaching into her pocket to pull out her phone. Maybe he wasn’t at his penthouse at all, but he wasn’t answering his phone either.

 

She dials his number and a few seconds later hears a cell phone ring. She turns to the open door of the bathroom where his cell phone sits on the edge of a tub ringing.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks, walking into the bathroom. It is here she sees him sitting silently, with his eyes closed, inside the bathtub.

 

She turns her phone off before shoving the phone into her pocket and approaching him.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks again, this time the tone different. He doesn’t respond.

 

Her eyes cascade down his torso into the tub full of water. A few partially melted ice cubes float on the top of the water. She reaches her hand into the water to find it cold – too cold to be sitting in.

She turns her eyes back to him, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

_What is this?_

 

\--

 

Lucifer stands in the mist, eyeing the figure in front of him. Slowly, and cautiously he approaches the man who has his back turned to him.

 

“Ten, fifteen, twenty, right?” the man mumbles to himself, “the directions said twenty. I’m sure of it.”

 

Lucifer walks around him, keeping a distance between him as he is still unsure of who this man is or where he is. Let alone why they are  _both_  here.

The man stares forward, his eyes wide and concentrating on something unknown.

 

“It said twenty, they told me it was twenty,” he continues to say, speaking to himself, “but how could I? how could I have –“

 

Lucifer watches him for a moment, taking in the sight of his naked body. He notices the tattoo on his arm that reads “Gone too soon, Johnathon Miles. 2009 – 2013”.

 

“Who are you?” Lucifer asks forcefully. 

 

The man’s eyes snap up to Lucifer. He stares at him for a moment, silent yet pensive.

 

“It said twenty, right?” he asks.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “What?”

 

“The doctor’s said when his blood sugar got low he needed 20 cc’s of insulin,” the man says as if repeating something he was sure of. Yet, suddenly he’s unsure.

 

“Or was it fifteen?” he asks.

 

Lucifer looks at him oddly,” What are you talking about.”

 

“I should have read the label. Why didn’t I read the label? I should have … I should have double-checked,” the man says, grief falling into his face.

 

The man pauses. There is a serious look in his eyes, and he turns to Lucifer.

 

“It’s my fault he’s dead, isn’t it?” he asks.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, not knowing how to answer that. He knew nothing of this man or the person he was talking about. Lucifer barely knew where he was himself.

The man takes his silence as an answer and nods to himself, a grim frown on his face.

 

“So, it’s my fault then … isn’t it?” he asks rhetorically before staring off into the distance, “It’s always been my fault.”

 

Suddenly the man explodes into a violent fire that burns him from the inside out until there is nothing left in his wake but ash. The ash falls to the ground and seeps between the black and grey pebbles at his feet.

Lucifer looks down and watches as the ash disappears between the stones. He turns to the fog, suddenly alone again. 

He stands there momentarily in silence.

He didn’t know what this place was, but he didn’t like it. Something inside of him told him he shouldn’t be here, that he didn’t want to be here. Furthermore, it told him there was only danger if he stayed.

 

“You’re still here?” a voice says behind him, it echoes in his brain and shakes his core.

 

He turns to see nothing, the voice still beyond the edge of the fog.

 

“We wish you would stop coming here Angel,” it says again behind him.

 

“Perhaps you’d like to tell me where I am so I can mark it off my bucket list?” Lucifer says, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever – or whatever – is producing that voice.

 

The voice laughs to itself.

 

“What are you guilty of?” it asks, the laughter in its voice dissipating too quickly. 

 

It rings in his ears, sending a hum that vibrates through his body down his limbs.

 _Guilty_ , his mind says. 

 

It hangs on that word.

That word drips down his body and stains his hands like fresh blood.

 

_Guilty._

 

“Lucifer?” the voice asks, a strange femininity to it.

 

Lucifer looks up and furrows his brow. That voice sounds oddly like -

 

“Lucifer!” it screams.

 

\--

 

 “Lucifer!” Chloe yells, trying to get his attention. She places her hands on his cold body and shakes him, trying to get him to respond, but It doesn’t work. He sits still, and silent and unmoving.

 

She stops shaking him and places two fingers on his jugular, checking for a pulse.

 

Suddenly his eyes pop open, and he lets out a deep gasp as if coming up from the water for air. She jumps back in fright as he leans forward in the tub, shifting the water slightly.

 

“Jesus!” she yelps, catching her breath and clutching her heart.

 

“ _Language_ ,” he says almost as a reflex. His eyes still adjusting to see the world he is in.

 

“What are you doing?” Chloe asks, moving towards a linen closet on the side of the bathroom. She grabs a thick towel and pulls it out just as Lucifer stands in the tub. She pauses and watches the water drip down his body. Her eyes land on his genitals, and she smiles.

 

“Shrinkage is real, huh?” she asks, handing the towel to him.

 

Lucifer accepts the towel, but he isn’t laughing. He just stares at her, his face pale. It could be from the cold, but more likely from the ideas swimming in his head. About who that man was, about where he was.

About the answer to that question.

 

What was he guilty of?

 

_Guilty._

 

Chloe realizes he isn’t laughing.

 

“You okay?” she asks.

 

He turns his eyes away from her as he steps out of the tub onto a mat, trailing water beneath him.

He wraps the towel around his waist, looking off into the distance, his mind full of thoughts and … feelings.

 

“Lucifer?” Chloe says as he walks out of the bathroom and into his bedroom.

 

He turns back to her, his eyes meeting hers.

She moves to lay a hand on him, and he bats it away, not wanting to be touched.

Surprised, she stands back from him.

 

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he says, looking around as if the space was unfamiliar to him. 

 

Though he’s not looking at his penthouse, but more so around it. In the unseen, in the depths of his mind.

 

That place, those voices … that _question_.

 

Guilty.

 

Did he feel guilty?

 

He turns and descends the two steps into the living room, Chloe follows behind him.

 

“Lucifer, what’s going on? I know you don’t want to talk about it but … I’m starting to worry.”

 

“Well, don’t,” he says, “it is none of your concern.”

 

He moves behind the bar and opens the freezer. Inside lays three metal cups that are frosted over on the outside.

Lucifer grabs one and scoops ice into it.

 

“Well I am,” Chloe says, crossing her arms and approaching him, “and … quite frankly it is my concern. Because we are dating and when two people are dating they work through their problems together, no matter how difficult.”

 

Lucifer turns to her and pauses. He tilts his head.

 

“Dating?” he asks, as if that idea were foreign to him.

 

She looks at him and drops her arms. Was she confused about what they were? She thought they went over this already.

 

“Yes,” she says annoyed by that question, “don’t forget it was you who called me your girlfriend.”

 

He looks at her then turns away, trying to pull that word out of his memory. Had he? He supposes he did.

He pulls the cup of ice up to his neck and stares out into the living room.

 

“I mean, if we aren’t then what is the point of all of this?” she asks, crossing her arms again.

 

“I know it can’t be just sex because-“she begins.

 

“Yes,” he says interrupting her words before she brings that up.

 

He didn’t need something else to feel guilty about right now.

He pauses again.

Guilty.

What  _did_  he feel guilty about?

 

“Yes, we are?” she asks to confirm.

 

He nods, his eyes drifting again, trying to lock onto the thought train that felt very close to its final destination. He was in a tunnel, and he could see the light at the end. He wanted to chase that, despite his fears of what might be on the other side.

 

“So, then what is it?” she asks, “What is bothering you?”

 

“It isn’t your problem, “he says walking around the bar and moving towards the steps again.

 

“Like hell it is,” she says angrily, “if you haven’t figured it out by now it is my problem because _you_  are my problem.”

 

He pauses. His eyes drop, and he turns to her.

 

“I’m your problem?” he says.

 

“No, not like that. That’s not what I mea-“she begins to say.

 

He nods, “No, you’re right Detective. I  _am_  the problem. Think about it, every awful thing that has ever happened to you is because of me.”

 

She shakes her head and uncrosses her arms, “That’s, that’s not true.”

 

“Cain? Abel? The poisoning, the gunshots …all of it. Would any of that have happened if it weren’t for me? If I hadn’t been so blinded by my own desire to prove him wrong that I altered every single event around me for my own benefit?”

 

“Lucifer, you can’t blame yourself for that. You made a few mistakes and that’s fine. Nobody is perfect.”

 

“I’m an Angel!” he screams, throwing the metal cup up against the wall.

 

It lands by the bookshelves and clangs to the floor. The ice spills out and scatters. It causes Chloe to jump in fright.

 

“I’m _supposed_  to be perfect!” he says, the heat rising in his veins again, “but look at me!”

 

Fire starts to crawl over his skin, and the soft pink texture of his body gives way to a red and angry body. His hair, damp and in disarray disappears and is replaced by a charred red skull.

 

“See what my  _perfection_ looks like!”

 

She stares at him, her body perfectly still. She knows he wouldn’t hurt her, but the anger in his eyes … it makes her very aware of where every limb in her body sits.

 

“I am a monster!” he screams, “I am a monster now, and I’ll be a monster when this is all over with.”

 

She looks at him, her eyes glancing over every inch of his red skin. 

Cautiously she catches his eyes, a deep blue flame in them. He stands there, staring at her. Waiting for her to say something.

Instead, she just watches him, waiting for him to get it out of his system, unable to see any words that would comfort him now.

He scoffs at her silence and turns to head back up the steps into his bedroom. There he sits on his bed in silence. She watches him from the edge of the bar. He sits sadly, his head hanging down.

 

“And there goes yet another thing to feel guilty about,” he says solemnly as the charred red skin slowly dissipates into soft and pink flesh. His hair, now dry and still oddly perfect, pops back onto his head.

 

He turns to her and watches her still standing cautiously at the bar. His eyes drop then turn away from her.

 

“You’ re-,” she says, her throat dry.

 

She clears her throat and tries again.

 

“You’re not a monster,” she says.

 

He scoffs, “You don’t know me.”

 

She steps forward, caution still in her stance.

 

“I know enough to know that I love you,” she says.

 

He turns to her, his eyes still lit in blue flame, but behind it, there isn’t anger, only sadness.

 

“Talk to me,” she says as she ascends the steps.

 

“I don’t want to,” he replies.

 

They’ve talked enough. _He’s_  talked enough for a lifetime.

He turns to watch her as she approaches him and slowly sits on the bed next to him.

She looks at him, in the way that he likes. With those eyes that promise him safety and love.

 

He tears up.

 

“You won’t love me anymore if I told you,” he says.

 

She tosses him a sad smile and reaches out to rub his shoulder. His skin is still hot to touch.

 

“Then  _you_  don’t know  _me_ ,” she says.

 

They sit in silence for a moment.

 

“I mean, you split a guy into pieces with hell hounds, and I’m still here,” she says.

 

He allows himself to let out into a soft chuckle, and Chloe smiles. She scoots closer to him.

The heat from her body oddly not affecting his own. Instead, it seems to cool him.

 

“Talk to me,” she begs him sweetly, trying to catch his eyes by leaning forward. He turns to her, and their eyes meet.

 

“I can’t,” he says, “the way you look at me … I don’t want to lose that.”

 

“That isn’t how relationships work,” she says.

 

They sit silently for a few moments.

 

“Why do you love me?” he asks, needing to know.

 

She shrugs, “I don’t know … I just do.”

 

“That’s not a reason,” he says, “I need to know.”

 

She sighs and removes her hand from his shoulder.

 

“I don’t know, Lucifer,” she says annoyed, “I just … I do, okay?”

 

“What if all those reasons you loved me disappeared?” he asks, “what then? You will drop me? Leave me to rot like all the others?”

 

She shakes her head, “No,” she says, “I guess … I guess I’ll just have to find new reasons to love you.”

 

He turns his head away from her. He doesn’t seem at all convinced. 

 

It is then she feels a distance from him that she hadn’t felt in a while. It was the distance she felt every time he ran. Every time they got close, and he disappeared on her. She sits next to him, watching his behavior. 

He is in a dark place.

She lets out an exasperated grunt.

 

“Loving you is like …,” she starts, the frustration in her voice, “it’s like loving a tornado.”

 

He turns to her.

 

“You come in, and you rip up farms and toss cows about. You tear down power lines, and if we’re lucky you leave  _only_  a few broken homes and limbs in your wake.”

 

He shakes his head, “You knew what I was, Detective. I never lied to -”

 

“I’m not finished, “she says interrupting him, “You’re a tornado. But at the center of every tornado is …clarity.  _Relative_ calm. The center of the storm.”

 

He turns to her, and they lock eyes.

 

“I love you not because of what you’ve done, but because at your center you’re... you’re clarity. You’re the man I’ve fallen in love with. Even with your tendency to break things and cause chaos … deep down you’re sweet, and caring and funny …mostly annoying, but also funny.”

 

He scoffs an shakes his head, a small smile peeking into the corner of his mouth.

 

“That is what I see, and nothing will change that,” she says.

 

He looks at her, trying to decide whether that was the truth or not. Confusion in his face falls into an understanding.

 

“I see you,” she says, “I’m just waiting for you to see you too.”

 

He turns away from her. He didn’t deserve to be seen.

 

“I am sorry if I ever tore up your farm, Detective,” he says.

 

She smiles softly and crosses her legs, leaning back on her hands in a calm and comfortable post, “I didn’t like the cows anyway. I’m not really a manual labor kind of girl.”

 

He exhales an exhale that sounds like amusement, and they sit in silence for a few moments. He moves to say something, but Chloe stops him.

 

“Let’s just … sit here,” she says.

 

He nods, and they sit in silence.

 

He looks down at the ground, his mind calm yet chaotic. She was right, he was a tornado, and at the center of him laid the biggest lie he had ever told. 

 

Perhaps that is why he hated it so much, being called a liar. Perhaps that is why he had made it such a big point to not lie. As if that principle would make it better, would fix it.

 

Maybe it  _was_ his fault? All of it.

 

He turns to her as she sits in silence, her legs crossed, and just enjoying his company. She had been made for him, that had been confirmed. Perhaps her love wasn’t real, perhaps it was all a show – a plan created by God to punish him for what he had done.

 

Did he deserve to be punished?

 

Still, real or not, he needed to know.

 

“Would you love me any less if I told you?” he asks.

 

She turns to him, her eyes searching for any clue about what he means.

 

“It’s not about another woman, is it?” she asks.

 

“No,” he shakes his head.

 

She smiles, “I’ll manage.”

 

He nods and turns ahead of him. He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. Once he does, he exhales loudly, ready to get it off his chest. His shoulders relax, and his body slumps.

 

“I was young,” he begins, “and angry.”

 

He turns to her, but she doesn’t look at him. He can tell she is listening. He turns his eyes back to the floor, remembering what he’s tried hard to forget.

 

“I had just been told my newest task was as keeper of the underworld, of Hell. “

 

\--

 

In the Silver city, on the platform that opens up into the stars. A young Samael stands in front of God, angry and yelling.

 

“Absolutely not!” Samael screams, “I will not.”

 

God looks at him, an interested but not shocked look on his face.

 

“You must,” he says, “that is your task.”

 

“Assign me something here, and I will gladly accept,” Samael says, “But the underworld? No, get another to do it. I still have work to do on the sky, and I want to be here with my family.”

 

“The stars are finished, Samael. It was you who told me they were.”

 

“Well, I changed my mind,” he says, “they need more work.”

 

God laughs, “Child, it is not your brothers you speak to. I know your true intentions, and I must say I am disappointed in your willingness to lie to me.”

 

“I’m not lying!” he says, “I … I want to stay here and that is that. Get another angel to do it, one you haven’t assigned a task.”

 

“It can only be you, Samael. You and Ezria.”

 

Samael shakes his head, “Well, I’m not doing it.”

 

Behind him, Michael steps up.

 

“Samael, do as you are told,” he says.

 

“No!” he says turning to Michael, “he wants me to live in the underworld. With the demons!”

 

“It is not your place to decide,” Michael says.

 

“Would you like to take my spot, then?” Samael asks. Michael doesn’t respond and Samael nods.

 

“Just as I thought.”

 

Samael turns back to God.

 

“Do you not hold me more precious than that? To walk around amongst your failures?” he asks.

 

“It sounds as if you hold yourself above them,” God says, “you are all my children.”

 

“They are abominations!” Samael screams, “I am the light-bringer! The morning star! The favorite of all God’s sons!”

 

God looks at him oddly.

 

“Who told you that you were my favorite?” he asks.

 

Samael pauses, “Am I not?”

 

God stares at him gravely, his eyebrows furrowed in distaste.

 

“I believe your pride has gotten the best of you, Samael. Perhaps it may do you some good to spend some time away, in the underworld. They are eager for leadership, and I believe you and Ezria to be perfect to provide that.”

 

“No,” Samael says, sternly, “My answer is no.”

 

Michael steps closer until he stands next to Samael. He towers over a young Samael and looks at him with great disappointment.

 

“Do not disobey,” Michael says, almost as a warning – as if afraid for Samael.

 

“Just do as you are told, please” he continues.

 

Samael looks at Michael, and they stare each other down. Samael then turns to God, his eyes narrowed in rage.

 

He grunts and unhappily storms off.

 

\--

 

Later, God stands alone on the landing pad that opens up to the stars when Samael appears behind him, followed by a group of angels.

 

God’s eyes fall from the sky to his feet, a sadness in them as if he already knows what waits behind him. He seems disappointed and heartbroken. Slowly, he turns and lays an eye on his children before turning his eyes to their leader.

 

“Yes Samael?” he asks, sad as if he already knows why they are here.

 

“A few of us have spoken, and we think it’s unfair that the mortals have more freedom than we do,” he says, looking back to confirm the other angels are in agreeance. 

 

They seem to agree, but it is clear they are unsure; afraid of what God might say.

 

“I see,” God says.

 

“We are your children. Should we not be afforded the same choice that you give mortals? A choice to decide what is right for us as they decide what is right for them?”

 

God furrows his brow.

 

“Samael, they are often wrong. Their decisions are often wrought by illogic and only end in consequence. They must decide for themselves, with no rhyme or direction and that freedom of choice comes with a mortal price. Is that what you desire?”

 

God turns his eyes to the angels behind Samael.

 

“Is that what you all desire?” he asks.

 

Samael turns to them. They look at one another, then at Samael and then finally at God. They sheepishly nod in non-unison.

 

Samael turns to God pleased.

 

God nods to himself.

 

“Okay,” he says, defeatedly.

 

He looks at Samael and continues to nod, “Very well.”

 

Suddenly, Michael and a few angels from heaven’s Army stand behind Samael and the Angels. Michael, having been in the middle of something, turns to find God and Samael staring each other down.

He doesn’t have a good feeling about this.

 

“Michael,” God says, not looking at him, but directly at Samael, “Samael and the others have decided they would like their freedom. They want to be like mortals.”

 

God turns to Michael, a calmness behind his eyes that Michael doesn’t like.

 

“Show them what it means to be free,” he says.

 

\--

 

Back in Lucifer’s penthouse, Chloe and Lucifer sit on the edge of his bed. He stares out to the ground, his back hunched over in shame. Beside him, Chloe sits and listens.

 

“I’ve spent so long being angry. Angry that the punishment did not fit the crime but,” he says to her, almost pleading, “but I never suggested there should be no punishment.”

 

She watches him, listening. Not really sure how to take this information. She hadn’t thought about what he did. She already knew the story, but hearing it firsthand was … indescribable.

 

It fills a hole in her knowledge of Lucifer she didn’t know she didn’t have. The story of his fall had always been in the back of her mind, but now it was clear. 

 

It all made sense.  _Lucifer made sense._

 

“This whole time I’ve been angry, feeling like the victim. But I did it to myself. I was my own executioner. It was my fault.”

 

“No,” Chloe says shaking her head, “It’s not-“

 

“It is,” he says standing up.

 

The towel around his waist falls to the floor and Chloe’s eyes drop to his genitals. His body now warm, there is no shrinkage to be found. She blinks before slowly raising her eyes to his. This seems like an inappropriate time to stare, to be thinking about what she is thinking about. She blinks again, trying to get that visual out of her mind, trying to focus on what he is saying.

 

“I’ve spent my life trying to punish him for what he did to me,” Lucifer says, “Trying to prove to him that I was doing just fine without him. That I didn’t need him. Look! Look how happy I am without you, without _all_  of you …”

 

Chloe sits there silently, listening and watching him as the heat rises in his eyes again.

 

Lucifer laughs at the idea, as if he has just realized how ridiculous it sounds.

 

He stares out into the distance. She can see the words forming in his head, the realization covering his soul. He turns his eyes to her.

 

_How could she love him after what he’s done?_

 

“but there is no amount of drugs, or women …. or drink that will undo the truth. I condemned my own brothers and sisters to hell. I infected them with my own pride and ego and ... selfishness.”

 

He shakes his head, mentally kicking himself for being so blind, “maybe it isn’t him I’ve been punishing this whole time.”

 

Chloe stands and closes the distance between him before wrapping her arms around him. He peels her away, not wanting comfort; not thinking he deserves it. He was tired of playing the victim; the fool.

 

It shocks her and she furrows her eyebrows.  _Why would he push her away?_

 

“How could you love me after that?” he asks her, “how could _anyone_  love me?”

 

She frowns and reaches out to touch his face. The skin there is warm too and he turns away from her.

 

“Look at me, “she says, as he averts his eyes.

 

He doesn’t respond.

 

“Lucifer, Look at me,” Chloe says again, sternly as she reaches up and turns his face towards her.

 

Her flesh makes the heat in his body stabilize, if not lower. As if someone had turned the gas down on the fire within him.

 

“You are who you are not because of what you’ve done, or what you’ve been through, but in _spite_  of it. None of us can change the past. What has happened has happened, and we can’t change that, only what we do from now on; how we react.”

 

He scoffs and turns away from her before heading down the steps into the living room then walking directly to the bar.

 

“Leave me,” he says, not wanting her here. She had already seen enough of him. He didn’t want her to see him at rock bottom.

 

She follows him, shaking her head.

 

“I know you don’t want to hear it, okay? You want to stew in your anger and … sometimes that is needed but … you need to stop digging yourself further into that hole if you ever want to get out of it.”

 

He turns to her as he reaches the cooler full of ice.

 

“Go!” he screams.

 

She shakes her head no.

 

“I’m not leaving,” she says.

 

Lucifer ignores her and reaches into the cooler to pull out another metal cup. He scoops it full of ice.

 

She comes around the front of the bar and places her hands on the bar top.

 

“You’re doing it now,” she says.

 

He looks up at her, not at all interested in what she has to say.

 

“You’re punishing yourself even now,” she says.

 

He pauses, the fire in his eyes growing more.

He angrily tosses the scoop back into the cooler.

 

“and you don’t have to,” she says.

 

“Why won’t you go?!” he screams, letting go of that anger.

 

She holds steady. Expecting him to have an outburst.

 

“I’m a monster!” he screams, “why can’t you see that?”

 

“I get it,” she says, “I do. You want to sit here and bathe in your self-pity and if that’s your process then that’s fine, but I’m not going to let you do that alone.”

 

He scoffs, “Oh please. Don’t pull that self-righteous ‘I’m here for you’ nonsense. You’re afraid, Detective. Afraid I’m going to run again.”

 

She rolls her eyes, “Okay, so what if I am? What if I am afraid that  _yet again_  you’re going to run off and lick your wounds by yourself and leave me in the dark?”

 

“News flash, Detective!” he says, waving a hand over his body, “I’m changing! I’m not going to have a place in the silver city or hell pretty soon, so where would I run to? Hmm?”

 

She nods, not at all pleased by that answer.

 

“So that’s your answer then? That’s the reason why you won’t run? It can’t be because you love me? Because you want to stay? Because I mean something to you?”

 

 “It isn’t real!” he screams at her, “ _none_ of this. He made you for me. He put you in my path for you to fall in love with me.”

 

“and what about you?” she asks.

 

He grunts and shakes his head.

 

“None of this is real.”

 

“It’s real to me,” she says the hurt in her voice.

 

He goes to say something but pauses. He looks at her, the anger in his body subsiding. She sees it, the look in his eyes to say she’s reached him on some intangible level.

That she’s managed to pull him back from his beginning spiral of self-hatred, if only for a second.

 

She steps forward, making sure to keep his eye contact.

 

“Shouldn’t that be enough?” she asks, “that it’s  _real_  to me?”

 

He continues to stare at her, his eyes wide with nothing to say. She approaches him and lays a hand on his chest. His body is still very warm, his heart beating fast.

 

“Let me help you,” she says.

 

He stares at her, a well of tears starting in his eyes.

 

“You can’t,” he says finally.

 

“Let me try, the least you can do is let me try,” she says.

 

His shoulders drop and he turns away from her, sulking back into his bedroom where he sits on the edge of the bed. He pulls the metal cup up to his jugular and it starts to cool his body.

 

“What’s the point?” he asks, “What is done is done.”

 

He stares at the floor, his back hunched. He risks a glance at her to see her standing there, her arms crossed and her eyes staring off into the distance. She sees his movement, and they catch eyes.

 

The silence between them is deafening.

 

Suddenly, Chloe reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone before typing. Lucifer narrows his eyes.

 

“What are you doing?” he asks.

 

“Texting Maze,” she says, before setting the phone in her pocket and reaching down to slide her shoes off.

 

“I told her I’m staying with you tonight, and she needs to watch Trixie.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “I don’t need you to babysit-“

 

“I’m staying,” she says, interrupting him with a sternness that even he can’t fight. 

 

Or perhaps he doesn’t want to anymore.

 

She walks up the steps and sits next to him.

 

He looks at her, a sad love in his eyes. She looks back at him defiantly, daring him to tell her she can’t.

 

“In this instance, I despise your tenacity,” he says.

 

She smiles and reaches out to grab his face before wiping the tears from his eyes with her thumb.

 

“Don’t lie to me,” she says sweetly.

 

He looks at her offended that she would say that, and she chuckles as his face. It makes him smile, and he softly chuckles back. They sit in a calm, comfortable silence as she reaches out to rub his back. His body is still warm, but his skin starts to pepper with goosebumps.

 

Suddenly Chloe’s phone vibrates, and she reaches into her pocket to pull it out.

 

She unlocks her phone and stares at it for a second before laughing.

Lucifer looks at her oddly.

 

“What?” he says.

 

She smiles and holds out her phone, “Look what Maze texted me back,” she says.

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to the phone and reads the text out loud, “No problem. Have a great night,” he says before he sees a long line of eggplant emojis.

 

He chuckles and nods. Chloe rolls her eyes and shoves the phone back into her pocket. She then leans in and rests her head on his shoulder.

They sit in silence for a moment.

 

 “Now,” she says, “Are you going to tell me why you feel like you could heat a small town?”

 

\--

 

It’s early morning, and people are busy heading to work in downtown Cairo. The sun is barely peeking over the edge of the horizon, and the distant sound of motorbikes beeping through busy intersections can be heard from the otherwise silent and peaceful veranda of a café.

 

The café sits on the corner of two smaller streets. Across from the café sits an old cathedral that has long been converted into a different place of worship.

 

At a table overlooking the intersection, a young gentleman wearing a white and gold-laced robe with dark sunglasses sits drinking a cup of tea. He sips on it lovingly, his eyes closed, and his senses taking in the smell and taste of the tea.

 

“Mm,” he hums.

 

“هل تود شيئا اخر؟ (Would you like anything else)?” says a voice from behind him. He turns to see a waiter standing with a notepad in his hands.

 

He smiles and sets the tea on the table.

 

“أي ساعة؟ (What time is it)?” he asks.

 

The waiter brings his wrist up and takes a look at his watch.

 

“7:12,” he says.

 

“Hmm,” the man nods before picking up his cup of tea again.

 

“هل تريد أي شيء آخر؟ (Did you want anything else)?” the waiter asks.

 

“ربما منشفة؟ (Perhaps a towelette)?” the man says.

 

The waiter nods and smiles before reaching into the apron tied around his waist. He frowns when he realizes he doesn’t have a napkin.

 

“لحظة واحدة (One moment),” he says.

 

“خذ وقتك (take your time),” the man says, “ليس لدينا شيء سوى الوقت (We have nothing but time).”

 

He pulls the cup of tea up to his lips and takes a sip of it before setting it down again.

 

“Father?” a voice behind him says.

 

He turns to see a young woman with bangs standing behind him, a cape tied around her neck.

 

“Azrael,” the man says a smile on his face, “I imagine you have questions as to why I am here.”

 

Azrael looks at him for a moment and shakes her head.

 

“No, not really. I get it. You’re about to do something that ends in the loss of mortal life and I’m going to have to collect a soul. Pretty standard stuff.”

 

God pauses and laughs.

 

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

 

He looks at Azrael and turns back to the tea.

 

“Would you like some tea while you are here?” he asks, “the chai is … exceptional. The flavor, the smell.”

 

Azrael shakes her ahead and approaches to stand next to God.

 

“No.”

 

He chuckles and nods to himself.

 

“Very well.”

 

The waiter comes back and approaches God.

 

“هنا تذهب يا سيدي ، آسف على الانتظار. (Here you go sir, sorry about the wait),” he says.

 

God turns to him and smiles before taking the napkin.

 

“شكرا علي (Thank you Ali),” he says, “في الوقت المحدد ( right on time).”

 

The waiter looks at him oddly. He wasn't wearing his name tag, nor did he say his name.

 

“كيف عرفتني (How did you know my-) “

 

Before the waiter can finish, the earth begins to rumble. Gently at first, like a large truck was driving by, the tea barely rippling in its cup.

 

God places the napkin on the table in front of the teacup and turns his eyes out towards the street in front of him.

 

Then, the earth begins to violently shake. The waiter reaches out and grabs a table, steadying himself.

 

“في الخارج (Outside)!” he yells as plaster begins to fall from the ceiling above him. God sits unmoved at the table as it shakes violently, spilling the tea onto the napkin and nowhere else.

 

The ceiling begins to crack, and plaster falls around him. Still, he sits there – unmoved and unafraid. Azrael stands beside him, also unwavering and unafraid. A crowd gathers in the intersection in front of them. The water yells back towards him.

 

“تأتي! بسرعة! انها ليست آمنة! ( Come! Quick! It isn’t safe!” he yells, waving to him to come out from the café.

 

“How many of them will die?” Azrael asks.

 

“Just a few,” he says, “the earth will open up and they will fall inside. It will be quick.”

 

Azrael nods a look of approval on her face.

 

“Pretty sick way to go,” she says.

 

God turns to her, an amused interest at her turn of phrase.

 

“I mean, if you had to choose,” she says.

 

He chuckles and turns back to the street just as the pavement begins to crack and separate.

 

“It’s for a good reason,” he promises, before turning back to her.

 

She looks at him, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

“I never asked.”

 

Suddenly, a section of the street pops open before collapsing inwards, dragging a few people standing by with it. Nearby a traffic light crashes into the pit while others move away from the slowly growing hole.

 

Azrael sighs.

 

“Well, as usual, Nice talk,” she says as her wings pop out behind her.

 

“Back to work.”

 

God smiles and reaches for his cup of tea as the shaking subsides. In the distances, the sounds of car alarms mix with ambulance sirens and police sirens. He takes a sip of his tea and hums into it.

 

“Mm,” he says, as a piece of plaster falls from the ceiling and crashes onto the table behind him

 

He truly did miss having taste buds.

 


	17. Achilles in Heels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amenadiel discovers time is running out for Daniel, Ezria and Calmos make it to Earth, Linda spells it out for Lucifer, Chloe starts back at work on a new case, The Lieutenant gets a visit from her old paramour and Maze finds a new hobby.
> 
> \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have much to say in this one that hasn’t already been said on my tumblr hrfiction.tumblr.com. Follow or bookmark to keep track of when this story gets updated!
> 
> \--

 

It’s way past closing time, and most people are already home and getting ready to go to bed. Lieutenant Natalie Edwards, however, is just leaving the station. Her button-up is wrinkled, and the bun she wears on her head is loose and partially falling apart. 

 

She walks from the precinct directly into the parking garage. Then she walks down the empty center of the lane towards her car at the top of the ramp. She walks through the parking garage, her keys jingling in her hand, and rotates her shoulders. 

 

It had been a long day, one filled with paperwork and the ever-present idea that the station might find out what she did on the side.

 

She had kept the mistress a well-guarded secret to the point that even Elliot didn’t know what she did. He had some inkling, sure. They had close calls before, and she always knew when to go radio silent, but they didn’t know about each other’s personal lives.

 

 She supposes that is why they got along so well. It’s odd, she thinks, perhaps Elliot was her best friend.

 

No, she thinks, shaking that thought off. Fred was her co-worker, her peer. They shared a singular interest and nothing more.

 

Still, the stress of life and work hadn’t made it easy, but mistress had given her an outlet, a place to put her desire to feel needed,  _wanted_ even. Mistress had been a lifesaver in a tumultuous sea. She had been a single boat in a vast and empty ocean. 

 

Natalie continues walking, her mind lost in thought, her bag hanging from the crook of her elbow, and her heels clicking on the cement. 

 

She can see her car just a few parking spots away, and despite her brain trying to quell the burgeoning panic in her spirit about Mistress, she still is very aware of her surroundings.

 

So, it’s no surprise that in an instant, the thought processes she was running through in her mind change, and she can only think of one thing. She can only think of that strange feeling of impending doom that begins to creep into her skin.

 

Slowly she maneuvers her grip on her keys, tucking the pronged metal between her fingers and balling her hand into a fist. 

 

“Long day?” a voice says from behind her. 

 

She whips around to see Maze standing, her arms crossed, in the ramp behind her. The defense in her eyes relaxes, and she lets out a tense sigh.

 

“Ms. Smith,” she says, “It is ill-advised to sneak up on people in dark garages at night.”

 

“For who? You or me?” she asks.

 

Natalie looks at her oddly before turning and continuing to approach her car. She presses a button on her keys, and the trunk pops open. She slips her bags into the back of her car.

 

“What do you need, Ms. Smith?” she asks, annoyed.

 

“I thought I’d give you another chance,” Maze says, her head tilted in non-amusement, “to re-certify me.”

 

Natalie pauses and turns to look over Maze’s stance.

 

“Or you’ll hurt me?” she asks, amused.

 

Maze doesn’t say anything, she only stares at Natalie – a facial expression saying she wouldn’t hesitate.

 

Natalie squints her eyes and turns to slowly close the trunk of the car. She turns her gaze back to Maze and eyes her over as if sizing her up.

 

She imagines Maze like a child throwing a temper tantrum and briefly wonders what would happen if she called her bluff. 

 

_Or what if it wasn’t a bluff?_

 

Ms. Smith had a reputation for being aggressive. She squints her eyes. She thinks she could probably take Maze if need be. She nods to herself.

 

“Okay,” she says, calmly, willing to play ball.

 

Maze unfolds her arms and nods, “Smart choice,” she says. 

 

Maze turns to leave.

 

“Do it,” Natalie says, slowly approaching Maze, her arms to her side and strange confidence in her walk. 

 

Maze turns back to her, one eyebrow cocked in confusion. Natalie’s shoulders are dropped and relaxed, her arms swaying by her side. She walks like a panther on the prowl, and Maze’s eyes instinctively survey her frame.

 

“Excuse me?” Maze asks.

 

“Do it,” Natalie says, continuing to approach Maze until she stands right in front of her, her eyes never leaving Maze’s.

 

“Hurt me,” she says.

 

Maze furrows her eyebrows and stares into Natalie’s eyes, trying to gauge if this is a test or a kink. She can’t decide.

 

They stand there for a moment, both unwilling to back down. Maze looks over her, calculating her, trying to guess her number. How far she has to push until she breaks.

 

Natalie’s facial expression is confident but not boastful. Maze should follow through on her threat, twist Natalie’s arm behind her back until she begs for Maze to let go. She should, but she doesn’t. 

 

She just stares into Natalie’s eyes and finds it to be strangely like staring into a mirror. Natalie raises her eyebrows when Maze doesn’t do anything and nods.

 

She backs away from her slowly before turning her back and walking back to her car.

 

“I look forward to seeing your certificate of re-certification, Ms. Smith,” she says.

 

Maze stands there, utterly unsure of what just happened. She watches Natalie’s car start, and Natalie back out of her parking spots before casually driving away.

 

She looks around for a moment, trying to parse this strange mixture of anger and excitement in her bones. She didn’t know if she wants to chase her down to harm her or fuck her. Somehow, she feels Natalie might enjoy both.

 

Yes, there was something off about this Lieutenant. If she couldn’t hunt humans, she would study them … one in particular.

 

\--

 

At the hospital, the lights inside the ward are dim, and the hallways are quiet as patients sleep and nurses mill about silently. 

 

In the shadows of a hall doorway and looking into Dan’s room, stands Amenadiel. Dan lays fast asleep in bed, his room quiet, and his snoring offset by the gentle beeping of the machines attached to him.

 

Amenadiel stands there, his mind racing about all he could have done to prevent this current situation. Had he removed Charlotte's image, Dan wouldn’t have remembered her and wouldn’t have continued to receive celestial messages. 

 

He wouldn’t have attempted to kill himself, leaving him soulless and barely moving. Dan wouldn’t be here. 

 

Instead, he’d be living a  _reasonable_  life.

 

But Amenadiel hadn’t done that. He hadn’t removed Charlotte’s image, and so Dan was here. The gun he used had ripped through the door inside him and yanked his soul out. 

 

That door, much like Dan, was healing, and if they didn’t find his soul before it sealed back, there would be no one inside to answer when they knocked.

 

He was blaming himself, but what was his other option? To leave Lucifer and Chloe alone? She was vulnerable, the door in her needing to be sealed. 

 

And Lucifer? He was teetering on the edge of emotional collapse. If something had happened to her and he was alone … who knows who he might have become. Who knows what he _is_  becoming.

 

Amenadiel pauses. 

 

 _What if that is what started the change?_  

 

He turns his eyes back to Daniel. One thing at a time. 

 

Once Daniel was sorted – truly sorted – he could worry about Lucifer, about whoever he was becoming. 

 

This was a more manageable task anyway. How difficult could it be to track down a soul? Especially considering he had the angel in charge of soul contracts at his disposal.

 

Suddenly, inside his room, Dan bolts up from his bed, his hands reaching for his legs as he screams out in pain. 

 

Amenadiel looks up from his daze and eyes Dan through the window of his room. A nurse hears Dan and immediately runs into his room.

 

She approaches and pulls the sheet off his body to find his legs stiff and locked up. The muscles in his legs completely contracted and pulsating.

 

“It’s okay,” she says to Dan, “It’s just a muscle spasm.” 

 

A male nurse runs into the room and moves to the other side of the bed.

 

“Diazepam, Go!” she says to him with urgency. 

 

He rushes out of the room and runs behind the main desk where a locked cabinet of medicine vials is bolted to the wall.

 

“It’s alright,” the woman says to Dan as he lays back and cringes in pain.

 

“This is a good sign. It means your legs are kind of booting back up. Your body is testing out the connection.”

 

He turns to her, the pain behind his eyes, his muscles tensing further.

 

“This is good,” she reassures him.

 

“I don’t need an explanation. Just make it fucking stop!” Dan screams, annoyed before he clenches his jaw in pain.

 

The male nurse comes running back with a small syringe. He hands it to the female nurse, and she turns to Dan. She sticks the end of the syringe into a port on his arm and very slowly pushes the drug into his system.

 

It takes forever, and with each new second, the pain gets worse until finally - after a full minute - his eyes start to lose their tension, and his body starts to relax.

 

“Oh, thank God,” he says, collapsing on the bed. 

 

The nurse turns to his legs. It takes his legs a little while longer, but they too relax, and the muscles lose their tension.

 

She continues slowly pushing the rest of the dosage into his system until he is completely relaxed, and his eyes are heavy again with sleep.

 

She unhooks the syringe and pats him on the shoulder.

 

“It’s a good sign,” she says with a forced smile. 

 

Dan nods, slowly getting lost in the feeling.

 

She turns and nods to the male nurse, and they make their exit, slowly shutting the door behind them but leaving it slightly ajar. 

 

“What a dick,” the male nurse says as he goes back to his rounds.

 

The female nurse nods, “It’s definitely a good sign. Maybe we can get his ass out of here sooner now that his legs are almost working again.”

 

She begins to walk back to the nurse's desk before pausing in the doorway to the hall. She turns and looks directly at Amenadiel, her eyes shifting in the darkness of that corner. 

 

She doesn’t see him, he doesn’t want her to, but she feels him standing there. She lowers her eyes, wondering if she’s tired from a long day before turning back to the corner.

 

“He still giving you trouble?” he hears a nurse say as she approaches the desk.

 

“No, he’s just having some muscle spasms. I gave him a relaxer to calm him down.”

 

“Oh, did you hear what he said to Debbie?” he hears the nurse say.

 

Amenadiel turns his eyes to Dan’s room, blocking out the conversation of the nurses. Dan has quickly fallen back to sleep.

 

Amenadiel frowns, if Dan’s legs were starting to respond, that means he would be walking soon. It means he’d be free to do as he pleases, and it would be harder to find him. 

 

They needed to find his soul now while he was stuck in one place. 

 

They needed to do it while the door was open. 

 

Before it seals.

 

 

\--

 

It’s early morning in the penthouse suite of LUX, and again, it is remarkably silent. 

 

The sun has barely started to peek over the horizon, and the penthouse is still relatively dark. Inside his bedroom, Lucifer lays next to Chloe, her arms draped around his naked torso. 

 

She is covered in his sheets while he is uncovered and still fully nude. They are both fast asleep and quiet. Despite the heat coming from his core, he looks comfortable. He looks as though he might  _actually_ be resting peacefully.

 

On the floor near the bed lays Chloe’s pants and bra, and on the bedside table lays her phone, car keys, badge, and gun.

 

It is quiet when suddenly, Lucifer  _bolts_  up in bed, sitting straight up – his breathing labored as if he just ran a mile in three seconds.

 

Chloe pulls away from him, her brain still covered in the fog of sleep.

 

“What?” she asks, her voice groggy, “What is going on?”

 

She looks around the room, half expecting there to be someone standing there. When she doesn’t see anyone, she turns to Lucifer as he catches his breath.

 

He looks at her for a moment before his breathing starts to steady, and he lays back down in bed. Chloe still watches him, confused about what is happening.

 

“I had another nightmare,” he says, “at least … at least I  _think_  it was a nightmare. I’m starting to have my doubts.”

 

Chloe sighs and pulls herself closer to him, wrapping her arms back around his torso and fitting back into that warm place where her head lies in the pocket of his shoulder and chest.

 

“Was it that same place?” she asks, her eyes closing.

 

Lucifer nods.

 

“Mmm,” Chloe hums in acknowledgment, “It’s okay, I’m here.”

 

 Lucifer turns to her, watching her as she slowly falls back asleep.

 

Yes, _she was._

 

Chloe could do nothing to stop this. She was just a human and what was happening to him … well …

 

_What was happening to him?_

 

It briefly occurs to him that the only one who had an answer was the person he was least interested in talking to; his father.

 

He turns his eyes to the ceiling, listening as her breathing softly steadies, and its clear she’s fallen back asleep.

 

She  _was_ here. 

 

He had revealed the truth about his fall, a secret he had clearly locked away. He felt shame and sorrow for what he had done, yet he still told her, yet she still stayed. He was literally and figuratively naked in front of her, and she was still here.

 

 _Why did he think she would leave?_  

 

Why had he _expected_  her to leave? 

 

What would he do to fuck this up?  _He always fucked it up._

 

He turns back to her, her arm draped across his naked torso. He reaches and brushes a strand of hair out of her face so he can see her. 

 

Her eyes are closed. If Lucifer weren’t already sure she was human, he would think she was an angel; God sent. He scoffs to himself and shakes his head. He supposes she was. 

 

He lets go a deep sigh and turns his eyes back to the ceiling. He lays there, staring at the ceiling and thinking for what feels like forever. 

 

He sits peacefully inside the catacombs of his mind, a burden off his shoulders, but a sense of impending doom growing in his spirit. He lays there, staring until the sun is in the sky, and a morning fog covers the city of Los Angeles.

 

Chloe’s phone on the night table starts to alarm, and then Chloe slowly stirs. Lucifer turns and reaches for her phone before turning off the alarm.

 

Chloe slowly opens her eyes and squints, the light from outside too bright. 

 

“Good Morning,” he says.

 

She turns her face up to him, the corner of her eyes caked with sleep, her hair wild, and a sudden awareness that her breath might be less than pleasant. She pulls away from him and covers her mouth.

 

“Good Morning,” she says, her voice cracking. 

 

She clears her throat.

 

He chuckles at her then hands her the phone. She grabs it and looks at the time before sighing and sitting up.

 

“I have to go and get ready for work,” she says.

 

“You don’t have to,” he says, his eyes draping down her body, “I’m sure I have something for you in my closet.”

 

She shakes her head and rolls her eyes before tossing the covers aside and climbing over his body until she stands beside his bed.

 

“I’m sure whatever you have for me isn’t work appropriate,” she says, walking towards the bathroom, “and I’d like to stay free of STD’s.”

 

He laughs.

 

“I know that’s a joke, but I’d like to reiterate I’m clean, you could eat off me,” he says.

 

She rolls her eyes and enters the bathroom before closing the door behind her.

 

He stands there for a moment. Watching the door and waiting. He liked this, waking up to Chloe in his arms. His smile slowly fades into a frown.

 

He liked this, so how long until he fucks it up? How long until she realizes she shouldn’t be here with him, that she was too good? Perhaps it was real; perhaps it was tangible, but … that didn’t mean it  _should_  be.

 

He was the devil. He had done things and probably  _will_  do things that were contrary to her moral standards. At some point, he’d have to tell her the truth for fear of lying to her, and she would see him for what he really was.

 

He turns his eyes to his closet.

 

But that didn’t mean he didn’t want to enjoy it. That didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy her being here and looking at him like that.

 

\--

 

Inside the bathroom, Chloe approaches the toilet and pulls her panties to her ankles before sitting. She sits there, allowing time to wake her up as she pees. She turns to the door and watches it for a moment before turning to the paper roll on the wall.

 

She sighs and wipes before standing, flushing, and pulling her underwear up. She approaches the sink and washes her hands, staring at herself in the mirror. 

 

She reaches down and splashes water on her face, clearing the sleep from her eyes and waking herself up further. She then fills her mouth with water, swishes it around, and spits. It wasn’t toothpaste, but it will do until she gets home.

 

She reaches for a towel on the counter and dries her face before turning to the door and opening it. She pauses and tilts her head when she finds a still nude Lucifer standing by his bed and holding up two button-up shirts. He turns to her and smiles.

 

“I figured you would wear your own pants,” he says, “but you can have one of my shirts.”

 

She approaches him, a smile on her face and her arms crossed.

 

“This one is a slim fit, so it might fit you better than my others,” he says, holding up a blue and white button-up shirt.

 

“The others you could swim in,” he says with a smile.

 

She grabs the hanger and looks at the shirt. It wasn’t perfect, but … she could get away with wearing it for the day.

 

“Thanks,” she says, turning back to him, the surprise in her voice noticeable.

 

He nods.

 

“So, you don’t have to go. You can get ready here,” he says.

 

She chuckles, “Do I get my own drawer too?” she asks jokingly.

 

He turns to her, a serious look on his face, one suggesting he doesn’t understand the implications of her own drawer.

 

“Would you like your own drawer?” he asks matter of factly like it was something he missed in a previous conversation of theirs.

 

Her smile falls, and she stares at him, her mouth agape and unsure of how to follow that.

 

She looks at him, then around him. Something about him was different. Sure, the shirt was a sweet gesture, but it only covered up the truth; he wanted her to stay with him. She could see it in his face. 

 

He  _needed_  her to stay with him. He didn’t want her to go.

 

She feels a weight fall off her own shoulders. It dawns on her how heavy the burden was – worrying if he would leave her. Worrying if he would run from her again. She had made him promise not to do so, but even the promise from a man who kept his promises wasn’t enough. 

 

Now, however, she can see it. She can feel it through every ounce of her being. He wasn’t going anywhere, he  _wanted_  her to stay. He wanted her to stay  _with_  him.

 

“Hmm,” she says to herself, nodding as she lays the shirt on the bed, that thought sitting and cultivating roots in her mind.

 

“You know, if I don’t have to go just yet,” she says, turning back to him and setting a hand on his chest, “That means I have a little extra time before I leave. Any suggestion on what we can do to fill the time?”

 

Her hands trail down his arms and grab his hand. He watches her, a curious, then intrigued look on his face.

 

She brings his hand up to her face and slips one of his fingers into her mouth. He stares on, his smile falling as he watches her. 

 

“Why, Detective,” he says, pleased with this turn of events, “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were trying to seduce me.”

 

Her smile drops, and she removes his fingers from her mouth. 

 

“Is it working?” she says, her eyes visibly dropping to his crotch.

 

“You don’t have to seduce me, Detective,” he laughs, “I am always more than willing.”

 

He pauses then frowns, “At least … mentally. The physical part might have to wait.”

 

She smiles and lets go of his hand before turning and climbing onto the bed. She sits back on her knees and pats the spot next to her. 

 

“There’s no harm in trying,” she says.

 

He nods and moves to sit on the edge of his bed, strange electricity in his gut.

 

She leans in as he sits down, “I didn’t brush my teeth yet, so you’re going to have to deal with it,” she says as she leans in to kiss him.

 

“I’ve tasted worst,” he responds.

 

She pauses and furrows her eyes. That was not the response she was looking for. She looks at him, not sure how to respond or even if she should respond to that.

 

“Darling, I’ve lived through the dark ages,” he clarifies, “I can assure you hygiene was not at the forefront of thought at the time.”

 

“Okay,” she says, sorry her eyes asked, “We’re going to have to work on your bedroom talk.”

 

He chuckles, and she lifts one leg as she climbs to straddle his lap. He sits back, allowing her to get into position, discomfort in his stance. 

 

She wraps her arms around his neck and plants a soft kiss on his lips.

 

He hums a pleased hum into it before she pulls away.

 

“How come every inch of you tastes so good?” he says. 

 

She smiles and starts to play in his hair, her smile slowly fading. 

 

“You don’t have to sweet-talk me anymore,” she says with a smile, her insinuation loud and clear. 

 

She turns her eyes to him, and they stare at one another for a moment.

 

“What?” she says, smiling.

 

He smiles back at her and wraps his arms around her back, pulling her lower body closer to his.

 

“I just thought if the Detective from when we first met could only see you now,” he says, laughing.

 

She laughs and reaches her hands back, pulling her hair into a ponytail and away from her face before letting it drop behind her back.

 

“ _God_ , she would have a heart attack,” Chloe laughs.

 

“Language,” Lucifer says, his eyebrows furrowed, “what has gotten into you lately with your words?”

 

She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck again.

 

She tilts her head before reaching up and playing with the curly hair at the peak of his forehead.

 

“Is it bad that I want to stay here and make love to you?” she asks, her eyes flipping to his, to gauge his response.

 

His smile slowly fades.

 

“I … I’d love to,” he says, “but … unfortunately, it seems I am closed for  _reconstruction_.”

 

She smiles and leans in, wrapping her arms across her chest and resting her head on his shoulder. He pulls her tighter.

 

She lets go of a deep, exasperated sigh.

 

“It’s not going to get easier, is it?” she asks.

 

He frowns, “I do not believe so,” he says. 

 

A sadness crawling into his spirit. He pulls her tighter.

 

“But …,” he says, trying to look for a silver lining, “the sex will be  _amazing_.”

 

She chuckles and rolls her eyes, “I don’t think that’s your call to make.”

 

“Oh come on, Detective,” he says, “It’s one of my greater qualities. I’m only sad you haven’t gotten the chance to experience it yet. Well, not fully, of course.”

 

She hums in agreeance, her breathe soft against his shoulder.

 

They sit in silence for a moment, each just taking in the smell and warmth of each other.

 

It was nice to feel this closeness. It was a pleasant stillness, one not characterized by impending doom or intense grief … just a moment of reprieve. He sits in that, feeling her close. He thinks its probably his favorite part, these small moments. 

 

He used to hate them; he used to not know what to do with them, and to be honest, he still doesn’t, but at least he’s learned that … maybe he didn’t have to do anything. Perhaps that is part of their charm, these small moments. 

 

Still, he was a man of action and … she  _had_  stated her interest in sex this morning. He couldn’t provide one part, but perhaps there was another he  _could_ fulfill.

 

She closes her eyes, feeling the warmth that radiates off him.

 

“Would you like to sit on my face?” he asks.

 

Suddenly her eyes pop open, and she looks around as if trying to figure out where the  _hell_  that came from. She sits up, pulling herself away from his body and looks at him.

 

“What?” she asks as if she didn’t hear what he just said.

 

“We can’t have sex, but I can please you in other ways,” he says, a hopefulness in his eyes.

 

She smiles, trying to hide the blush in her face.

 

“You don’t have to,” she says, “We can … we don’t have to.”

 

“But do you  _want_ to?” he asks, his eyes locked on her.

 

She sits there, mouth agape at the change in the direction of the moment.

 

He leans in and kisses her, putting her mouth to more useful work. Her eyes are open, still in shock, but slowly she melts into his touch, and her arms wrap around his neck again. He slides his hands up the bottom of her shirt, and they roam across her back.

 

He is warm, and the room is cold, so the goosebumps that form on her body should be due to the temperature, but the way he is touching her, it could be anything. 

 

She hums in approval at the feeling of his hands on her body. She wanted to feel his hands all over her, touching every millimeter of her skin.

 

He continues to rub his hands across her back until he pulls his hands out of her shirt and grabs it by the hem. She raises her hand instinctively as he pulls the shirt over her head.

 

Once it is past her neck, she takes over as he leans down and takes a breast into her mouth. He groans as he does, like his first bite after a long fast. He wanted to please her. He was _eager_  to please her, to make her happy.

 

She hums in approval as she tosses the shirt into the pile of her clothing on the floor. Then, she grabs the back of his head and holding his mouth onto her breast as she starts to grind into his lap. 

 

Only the fabric of her underwear separates their soft bits from touching, but it might as well not be there in her mind. He hums in pleasure as he concentrates on nibbling and sucking on her nipple.

 

She lets go of a soft moan in response to what he is doing, as her body grinds against his, hoping to wake his erection. So far, it isn’t working.

 

He looks up at her, his lips wrapped around her nipple. There was lust behind her eyes, and he expected that. It was reasonable to see when he was mere moments away from having her in his mouth again. 

 

Her body continues to grind on him, and he briefly wonders if it may have an effect on him. He catches himself, hoping it doesn’t. 

 

This moment was perfect. 

 

He didn’t want to  _ruin_ that with his own desires.

 

His brain momentarily shifts gears, wondering if it should chase that familiar feeling bubbling up through his spine. He had pushed it down many times, and he had thought his confession last night was enough, but there was an eternity of bottled up feelings in him. He was getting tired of pulling the cork.

 

Her moans of pleasure bring him back to the present, to his lips wrapped around the sensitive bud of her nipple.

 

He pops her breast out his mouth, and instantly their mouths lock again.

 

He reaches down and grabs onto her waist with his hands, adding pressure to her grind as he moves his hips in response. 

 

He ignores that feeling in his head and tries. He tries to make something happen, to end his dry spell, to prove he could be  _something_  to her.

 

Their lips separate, and his mouth immediately seeks out a breast again. She moans in response as he eagerly sucks and licks her nipple.

 

Her breathing starts to get ragged.

 

Her grinding sends a pulse of pleasure to his gut. It’s a signal that should spark a response that should have him growing beneath her body. Yet he can feel, even now, he is unresponsive. He gives up trying to inject life into his erection.

 

He separates from her and kisses her neck as he stands up, carrying her with him, before turning and dropping her onto the bed. 

 

She giggles at his newfound enthusiasm, and he climbs between her legs and goes to her neck. This time licking it and climbing down to her collarbone where he greedily – yet gently - bites.

 

He grinds his body against hers, feeling her wetness begin to soak through her underwear and onto his bare skin.

 

She hums pleased as he continues to grind, feeling the pressure of his hips against hers and wishing he was inside of her.

 

“I thought I was going to sit on your face?” she asks, her voice low and sultry.

 

“I changed my mind,” he says, pulling away from her. 

 

He sits up and immediately loops his fingertips beneath her underwear before sliding them off her legs and tossing them to the floor.

 

If he couldn’t perform, but he could please her in other ways. He could be …  _useful._

 

He moves down between her legs, and immediately his tongue meets the center of her wetness. She relaxes her head on the pillow and spreads her legs. His tongue laps and tickles around the folds of her pussy before his lips again meet her clit.

 

“Mmm,” she hums, her body relaxing into his touch. 

 

It was familiar at this point, and she knew she was in good hands.

 

He reaches up and places a hand on the back of her thigh, pushing her leg higher and exposing more of her to him.

 

“Oh, mmmm, you’re good at that,” she says, her breath getting louder and her eyelids cumbersome.

 

He laughs a pleased laugh into her as he pulls his hand away from her thigh, allowing it to fall naturally back down to the bed. She places her feet flat on the mattress, giving him some room, but it's difficult to keep it up when all her body wants to do is fall into his touch.

 

She feels the tentative testing of his digits at her entrance before one slowly slides into her. Her breathing becomes more labored, knowing what is coming – knowing  _she_  would be cumming.

 

Then she feels a second finger enter her, and her eyes close tightly as he gently slides his digits in and out of her.

 

He hums into her body again, getting his own pleasure out of what he is doing. His tongue laps at her. At every bit of her he can find to lick.

 

Suddenly it dawns on her she hadn’t showered last night or this morning and her body tenses. She looks down, he’s lost in a world of his own. He doesn’t seem to mind.

 

He looks up at her, feeling the tension in her body.

 

“You have to relax,” he says, annoyed that she is tensing, “or this will take much longer.”

 

“Sorry, I just … I realized I haven’t showered yet, and … it made me a little self-conscious.”

 

He smiles, his fingers still sliding in and out of her.

 

“I lived through the middle ages, remember? There is nothing you could do short of rolling around nude in a pile of tar and animal feces that would make you taste any less divine.”

 

She narrows her eyes and reaches down to push his head back between her legs.

 

“We _really_  have to work on your bedroom talk,” she says, silencing his speech.

 

He chuckles as his tongue tickles around her clit. He lifts his head up slightly, just enough to get a few words out.

 

“You’re going to _love_  what I have to say,” he says as she wraps his lips around her clit.

 

She lets out a moan, her body relaxing again.

 

Suddenly, her phone on the side table rings and she sits up, suddenly tense again.

 

“I have to get this,” she says, insinuating that he should stop what he is doing.

 

He hums into her body, acknowledging what she has said, but not understanding that he should probably stop. 

 

So ... he doesn’t.

 

Chloe reaches her hand out and grabs the phone off the side table and answers.

 

“Hello?” she says, as he begins to curve his fingers into her.

 

Her eyes roll the back of her head, and she lets out a grunt before reaching up and covering her mouth. 

 

“Hey,” Ella says on the other line, “I just wanted to make sure you were coming to the crime scene this morning and not the precinct?”

 

Chloe reaches down and begins to push his head away. He doesn’t budge. He’s defiant in his stance and perhaps is taking joy in the situation.

 

“It’s a good ways away,” Ella continues, “so you might have to leave early.”

 

“Uh-huh,” she says, trying to stifle a moan as he continues to curve his fingers into her. 

 

His tongue is just as relentless as his fingers. He's abandoned all pretenses of being neat and allows his lips and tongue to slurp and lick loudly.

 

It only makes it more difficult for Chloe to be quiet. His touch was the same as the last time, but his technique was ... wildly different. 

 

Her breathing gives her away, and Ella notices.

 

“You okay?” Ella asks, laughing, “Ooh! Did you start working out before work like we said we would? Man, I need to get on that..”

 

“No,” Chloe says quickly, “I uh … I’m just rushing to get ready.”

 

“Oh,” she says.

 

There’s a voice in the room with Ella, and she pauses.

 

“Hold on,” she says.

 

“Mmmhmm,” Chloe says, in acknowledgment but also to hide a small moan.

 

Ella mumbles something to the man in the room with her as Chloe turns to Lucifer and smacks him on the head.

 

“Stop,” she whispers. 

 

He looks at her defiantly as if knowing what he is doing. He continues, taking great joy in licking and sucking as his fingers continue their attack on her insides.

 

She rolls her eyes backward, her head tilting as a wave of pleasure hits her. She does a remarkably shitty job of stifling her moan, her body starting to grind into his movements.

 

“Sorry about that,” Ella says, coming back on the line.

 

“No problem,” Chloe says, her head snapping up.

 

“I’ll send you the address, yeah? And make sure you bring gloves, the scene’s a bit … messy.”

 

“Mhmm, Thanks, Ella,” she says again, giving in to the idea that Lucifer won’t let up as she reaches down and holds his head onto her body, her hips grinding into his face.

 

He chuckles a warm laugh at her.

 

“Alright,” Ella says before the line clicks, and Chloe chucks the phone onto the bed.

 

“I hate you,” she says to him.

 

He laughs again as he removes his lips from her pussy.

 

“Don’t lie to me,” he says with a grin.

 

She pushes his face back down.

 

“Don’t talk,” she says, her hips grinding into his face. 

 

She can feel the wide grin on his lips.

 

“Mmhmm,” she says, as she moves a hand up to touch her breasts. 

 

Lucifer sees her touching herself and moves his free hand up to caress her torso. It runs down her collarbone, past her breasts, and to her abdomen, where he puts pressure on her lower abdomen, tightening the skin around her crotch and forcing her clit to protrude more.

 

Then he continues happily suckling on it before he feels her legs wrap around his face. 

 

He looks up to find her eyes closed tightly, her mouth agape.

 

“Yes,” she says, her voice high and tense.

 

He hums pleased, knowing she is close. She was … a joy to watch.

 

“Shit,” she says, reaching down and grabbing a hand full of his hair.

 

“Mmm,” he hums again, approving of the grip she has on his scalp.

 

She nods, “Right there,” she says.

 

He turns his eyes up to her, he needed to watch this. He continues to push and pull his fingers out of her, curving them with gentle pressure and feeling her wetness between his fingers.

 

“Fuck, Lucifer …,” she gasps as her legs begin to tremble. 

 

Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and she naturally makes a valley between her rib cage and hips as she stretches her arms up, elongating her body as the sensation travels up her spine and out to her fingertips.

 

“Yes,” she whines, her hips increasing their grind against his face, and she pulls a hand back down and grabs a hand full of his hair again. 

 

He locks down his arm against her leg to steady himself against her grinding.

 

“ _Oh God_ ,” she moans.

 

His eyes snap up to her, and his eyebrows furrowed in disapproval.

 

She continues to grind against him, not even paying mind to the look he is giving her. She is lost in her own world, chasing the feeling that is growing in her gut.

 

“Right there,” she gasps, the grip on his hair tightening.

 

“Don’t stop,” she says, her words breathy, “Don’t stop,”

 

He continues to curl his fingers as he glides them into her. Then he stops his fingers from sliding in and out of her and plunges them until his knuckles prevent him from going further. He curls his fingers and flicks them in rapid succession, her body wet, and her juices all over his face.

 

She lets out a deep moan before her free hand grabs hold of the sheets.

 

“Fuuuck,” she says, as her body starts to tremble. 

 

He laughs into her, a pleased and warm laugh as he knows what is about to happen.

 

She gasps then lets out a staccato moan before gasping again.

 

There is a brief moment of silence as he feels her body pulsate around his fingers in a pattern that indicates she is cumming. 

 

He looks up at her to find her deep in the throes of her orgasm, her mouth wide, her breathing stopped, and her body lubricating his fingers to the point of excess.

 

He closes his eyes and hums into her body. If  _this_  weren’t enough to get him hard, it wasn’t going to happen.

 

A small whine escapes her throat as she continues to grind into his face, his fingers continuing to curve into her, despite her body already hitting the point of no return.

 

She inhales sharply and lets out a deep, elongated moan.

 

“Ohhhhh,” she says, her legs beginning to shake.

 

He hums happily as the tension in her body eventually subsides, and she collapses onto the bed.

 

He withdraws his fingers from her but continues to gently lick her, lapping at the remnants of her orgasm.

 

She allows him, her body drained until he eventually stops and moves up to kiss her. She kisses back, taking joy in the fact that his face looks like he just at a ripe pear.

 

He lies between her legs, her arms moving to wrap around his neck as they softly kiss.

 

“See?” he says, “I can be of use to you.”

 

She smiles, her lids heavy with relaxation.

 

“You’re always of use to me,” she says with a soft smile. She turns her eyes to him.

 

He smiles and starts to grind his body against hers, allowing his penis to come in contact with her juices.

 

He sits up between her legs and reaches down to grab his flaccid cock before rubbing it between the wet lips of her pussy.

 

He does this for a few seconds before Chloe leans up on her elbows and watches. She looks up at him.

 

"Anything?" she asks.

 

He shakes his head and smiles before leaning forward and kissing her.

 

"Just reminding myself of what you might feel like," he says.

 

She chuckles and collapses back down onto the bed. He leans in and plants soft kisses on her neck and collarbone.

 

“At some point, I do have to go,” she says, her eyes heavy and her voice soft, “but I’d rather stay here with you.”

 

“Then stay,” he says, attempting to hide the neediness in his voice.

 

She smiles and sticks her fingers through his hair, “I would love to.”

 

He smiles and leans in to kiss her.

 

“But,” she says between his lips.

 

He leans away, allowing her to talk, “I have responsibilities and a child to feed. So, I need to keep my job,” she says as she chuckles and pushes him off her. 

 

He falls back onto the bed and watches as she slides off and reaches down to collect her pants.

 

“Speaking of, you _are_  coming to work today, right?”

 

“Of course,” he says, sliding to the edge of the bed and sitting up, “I have responsibilities too.”

 

Chloe looks at him as if he were joking, “Like what?”

 

“Well, I’ll have you know that Amenadiel and I are working on retrieving Daniel’s-“

 

He stops himself. He wasn’t supposed to say that.

 

Chloe pauses and looks at him. Her eyes narrow.

 

“Daniel’s what?” she asks, seeing the look in his eyes.

 

“Daniel’s ...”

 

She looks at him and crosses her arms.

 

“Like what?” she says again, her voice stern.

 

He thinks for a moment, trying to see if he could get out of this without lying or bluffing. 

 

Nope. He uh … he stepped in this one.

 

He sighs, and his shoulders drop in defeat.

 

“Daniel … may have inadvertently gotten his soul stolen by a crossroads demon, and now we have to get it back before the door closes in him, and he becomes …. well …  _more_  of a douche than usual.”

 

She looks at him, the haze of her orgasm completely gone, and her brain back into detective mode.

 

“I … I feel sorry that I asked,” she says, not even knowing what to say to that.

 

“Don’t worry, Detective,” he says, standing, “Amenadiel and I have it covered.”

 

“I don’t know if I should feel elated or concerned,” she says, picking up her t-shirt and slipping it on, “though I suppose there really is no one else that could help with a …what was it, a stolen soul?”

 

He nods.

 

She pauses as if it starts to make sense, “Is that why he’s being such an asshole about Trixie?” she asks.

 

“Well, mostly,” Lucifer says.

 

She sighs, “Okay,” she says, deciding to put her trust in Lucifer. I mean, he did just make her cum, at this point … sure, why not.

 

Her brain hadn't yet kicked back into her caring about anything but the tingle between her legs. Besides, it was some celestial thing, and Lucifer was always doing celestial things. He would fix Dan, she knows he will.

 

Lucifer notices that she’s put back on her t-shirt.

 

“I gave you a shirt Detective,” he says, annoyed as he turns and points to the shirt laid on the bed. 

 

He pauses as he looks at it and turns to her.

 

“Though, I think we may have wrinkled it.”

 

She chuckles and leans down to pick up her bra and underwear.

 

“I’m going to stop by my house and get new clothes anyway,” she says, heading down the steps to the living room.

 

“You do your thing with Daniel, and I’ll call you when I need you,” she continues.

 

He watches as she descends the steps and slides her feet into her shoes. His eyes cast out towards the penthouse.

 

“Remember the Lieutenant is watching us on this case so … you  _have_ to answer the phone when I call.”

 

“Always,” he says.

 

She looks at him as if he shouldn’t bring up the fact that he doesn’t always answer her.

 

“Except when I’m in hell or sleeping,” he says with a smile.

 

She shakes her head and smiles before turning and heading to the elevator.

 

“Detective, “he says.

 

She turns to him as he moves to descend the steps.

 

“Perhaps you’d like to have dinner tonight?” he asks, “there aren’t many places where I could go in my current condition so … maybe we could have a meal here? See where the evening takes us.”

 

She thinks for a moment and shakes her head, “I don’t know Lucifer, can we wait until the weekend? I’ve already spent one night away from Trixie.”

 

“Please,” he says, “I won’t keep you long. I promise you’ll be back in time to tuck the little Cretan into bed.”

 

The thinks for a moment and sighs, “Okay, fine … I’ll have to call a babysitter, but … Yeah, I would like that.”

 

He nods and smiles.

 

“So, it’s settled.”

 

“I’ll call you, okay?” she says before turning and walking to the elevator.

 

He nods and descends the steps, walking closer to the bar.

 

The elevator door dings and opens, and she steps in. She presses the down button and looks up as the doors begin to close. 

 

Suddenly she sticks her hand out, stopping the doors from closing and rushes out of the elevator.

 

Lucifer tilts his head as she scurries up to him and leans in on her tiptoes, gently kissing him on the lips.

 

He smiles as she runs back to the elevator and presses the button again. They meet eyes, smiles wide on both their faces, as the doors close, and Lucifer is left in the penthouse. 

 

The doors close, and Lucifer is left alone in his penthouse.

 

His smile slowly fades as he thinks about it all. He would have a date with her tonight, and he needed everything to go perfect.

 

He couldn’t satiate her any longer with just his hands and tongue. Well, he could, but he didn’t want to.

 

She said herself she wanted to stay and make love to him.

 

 _Make love_ , he thinks.

 

He wonders what that feels like if it's any different than sex.

 

He needed his dick to work. Why wasn’t his dick working?

 

He had wanted the Detective since the day he laid eyes on her. Sure, it was physical at first, but it was still attraction – still  _desire_. So why, on the precipice of getting what he wanted, did he suddenly … not want it?

 

He stares forward for a moment, trying to come to any conclusion that makes sense.

 

His shoulder drops as it dawns on him.

 

“Oh, dear,” he says loudly, it just hitting his brain.

 

Perhaps Doctor Martin was right, he thinks. 

 

 

\--

 

In an alleyway, Jeremy the crossroads demon sits in wait with a cigarette effortlessly wedged between his fingers and burning. 

 

He pulls the cigarette to his lips, takes a deep drag, and watches as the ash falls to the ground. He exhales with a sigh of longing, sending a cloud of smoke into the nearby air. 

 

It quickly dissipates.

 

Next to him, a line of fire begins to trace itself up the brick wall of the building he leans against. He turns to it, a look of disinterest in his eyes; he’s seen the doorway open too many times to be moved by it anymore. Instead, it is starting to annoy him. 

 

It reminds him of those free to travel between worlds, while he is stuck here, guarding the door like some mutt.

 

The line of fire climbs up, then makes a sharp right, then sharply turns again, heading back towards the floor and tracing the outline of a door. When the outline is complete, the inside of the newly formed box crumbles and gives way to fire. 

 

Through the gate steps first Calmos, he is both cautious and excited. He immediately looks upward at the absence of ash and is awe-stricken. He had heard about the sun and the air, but experiencing it … it was … 

 

There were no words for what he was seeing or feeling or smelling. The air here was crisp and made his lungs fill light – not heavy. It wasn’t thick and warm like the air in hell. 

 

It wasn’t filled with the unforgiving smell of warm bodies and fire or smoke. The air here was fragrant in comparison.

 

Jeremy turns to Calmos, no longer disinterested in who was stepping through the door.

 

“You,” he says, leaning off the wall and sticking the cigarette at the edge of his lips. It bounces as he talks, sending ash scattering onto his clothing.

 

“You aren’t allowed here,” he says.

 

He immediately drapes Calmos up by the collar of his shirt and pulls him closer, the smoke from his breath floating into his nostrils. 

 

It is now Calmos can really tell the difference between the air in hell and the air here. It wasn’t just lighter, it was cleaner.

 

“Who told you to come through the door?” he asks.

 

Ezria steps through the gate, a calm and collected facial expression quickly falls to anger when he sees Calmos and Jeremy.

 

“Unhand him,” he demands.

 

Jeremy turns behind him to see Ezria, and he slowly let’s go of Calmos’ shirt. His eyes widen, and he looks over Ezria. This wasn’t Lucifer, right? 

 

Lucifer was more muscular and had a different air about him. He commanded attention in a way that promised gratification with the threat of disaster. 

 

Or was it the promise of disaster with the threat of gratification? Either way, this wasn’t Lucifer. 

 

No, this must be the other Angel. The one he’s only heard about. The one in Lucifer’s place.

 

“Ezria?” he asks, unsure of what he is looking at.

 

Ezria approaches him, and Jeremy finds out that Ezria is much taller than him. Despite being thin and lanky, his form casts a shadow.

 

“That is not how you address me,” he says, darkness forming in his eyes. 

 

Jeremy stares into Ezria’s eyes as the darkness in them swirls and catches his attention. There is a sudden and bottomless mortal fear that drapes over him like a cape. 

 

It causes him to drop his jaw and sends the cigarette crashing to the ground beneath him. The cigarette burns at his feet as he stares into the darkness of Ezria’s eyes. 

 

Inside them was the void, the endless darkness; the end of him. It casts fear over his bones and pries into a depth of him he didn’t know was reachable. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, ready to take flight.

 

Jeremy shakes his head, “I ... I … my apologies, my Lord,” he says, averting his eyes to the ground. 

 

He didn’t want to see it, to admit it had made him fearful. It sent a chill through his bones. 

 

“I was not told of your arrival,” he says, trying to keep his eyes from meeting Ezria’s, “You must understand my confusion to see you and your ...”

 

He turns his eyes to Calmos.

 

What was he? A servant? A messenger? Perhaps a lover?

 

Ezria nods, “Yes, it was a rather unplanned visit. One you should be prepared for at any rate.”

 

Jeremy nods, “Yes … I understand.”

 

Ezria turns to Calmos, who continues to look around. He has his hand on the brick wall, feeling its texture. 

 

The darkness in his eyes fades as he watches Calmos. He turns back to Jeremy.

 

“How far is Lucifer’s club from here?” he asks.

 

Jeremy cautiously looks up at him.

 

“It’s about a thirty-minute drive, my lord.”

 

Jeremy turns his head towards the nearby street. 

 

“You take the road north until you reach the park. Then you make a left and continue that way for about five blocks. Then you’ll make a right, and it will be on your right.”

 

Ezria nods and turns back to Calmos, who looks directly up, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sun. Jeremy turns his eyes to Calmos too.

 

“I wouldn’t do that,” he says.

 

Calmos shields his eyes from the brightness of the sun and turns away before glancing at Jeremy.

 

“It’s bright. It will burn your eyes right out of your head,” he says.

 

Calmos glances at Ezria, who smiles, amused, before turning back to Jeremy.

 

“Remind me, what is it called? This club of his?” he asks.

 

Jeremy looks at Ezria.

 

“LUX,” he says. 

 

“Mm,” Ezria hums, remembering.

 

 It was all coming back to him now. He turns back to Calmos.

 

“Come, Calmos. Let us find some clothing more … fitting,” he says.

 

Calmos nods and starts to follow Ezria.

 

“Clothes?” Jeremy says.

 

Ezria turns around.

 

“You’ll need money for that, my Lord. Everything here costs something.”

 

Ezria’s eyes drop. He forgot how much mortals relied on their money and riches.

 

He looks up at Jeremy, narrows his eyes, and slowly approaches.

 

“Have you any  _money_?” he asks, the word falling out of his mouth as if it were a foreign phrase.

 

Jeremy looks at him. He wants to say no, he wants Ezria to fend on his own. Jeremy had earned the money he had on him fair and square. 

 

Still, he couldn’t say no, he was afraid of what might happen if he said no. He thinks about the locked box of cash he has in his hiding place. 

 

In the same place, he keeps his knives and his gun. There were thousands of dollars there, way more than Ezria needed and way more than he was willing to give. 

 

He sticks his hand into his pocket and is relieved when he feels the fold of a few dollar bills.

 

“I … I don’t have much,” he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a few small bills.

 

“It might be enough to get you something to eat?” Jeremy says, holding his hand out.

 

Ezria takes the cash and looks at it. A twenty, a few tens and a couple one-dollar bills.

 

“Hmm,” he hums, nodding. He looks up at Jeremy and nods.

 

“I don’t believe I caught your name,” he says.

 

“Jeremy.”

 

Ezria furrows his eyebrows, that was a strange name for a demon.

 

“Yes,” he says, “Well, thank you, Jeremy.”

 

Jeremy nods as Ezria turns and meets back up with Calmos. Together they both walk towards the end of the alley.

 

“It will be a much shorter route if you use your wings, My Lord,” Jeremy yells to them.

 

Ezria turns to Jeremy as he walks, “I believe we will walk,” he says, wanting to stretch his legs. 

 

His eyes briefly glance at Calmos as Calmos continues to take in the sights. Ezria smiles, amused by this demon’s curiosity. He wanted to know how far it went.

 

Jeremy nods and watches as they exit the alley away and turn down the street, disappearing behind a wall. 

 

He waits for a second to be sure they are gone before he rolls his eyes and reaches into his pocket to pull out another cigarette.

 

“Fucking Angels,” he says to himself. 

 

His hands shake as he pulls the lighter up to the cigarette and lights it. His sense of bravado slowly returns as he attempts to shake off the mortal fear he had just been instilled with.

 

 “ _That’s not how you address me_ ,” he says mockingly as he pulls the cigarette to his lips and takes a long deep drag.

 

He takes the smoke deep into his lungs and holds it there, thinking of all the things he should have said.

 

He exhales slowly, sending a cloud of smoke billowing into the alleyway before it dissipates, almost in an instant.

 

He pauses for a second, his brain still thinking as he walks back to his spot against the wall and taps the ash into a forming pile nearby.

 

He scoffs, “Suck my dick, asshole,” he says, pulling the cigarette up to his lips and taking another drag.

 

Yeah.  _Yeah,_ he should have said that.

 

Just then, behind a small brick near his head, a red-light shines before slowly fading. He turns to it and smiles.

 

He looks back towards the alley opening before turning to a loose brick near his head and inching it out slowly. 

 

Once the brick pops out, it reveals a loose cavern with two tin boxes, a set of black blades, a tube filled with a light blue fog, and an old gun. 

 

He grabs the gun and pulls it out of its hiding spot before flicking the cylinder open, revealing one bullet inside. 

 

He smiles and nods. 

 

_Almost there._

 

He flips the chamber back into the gun then tucks the gun back into the hiding spot. He then reaches for one of the tin boxes and slides the lid off to reveal four tubes filled with a light blue mist. 

 

The mist swirls inside each tube, alive and active. He grabs the tube in the hiding place and pops it on top of the stack in the tin box. Then, he covers the tin box and slides it back into the hole before sliding the brick back into place.

 

He pulls the cigarette up to his lips and takes a deep drag as he leans back onto the brick wall.

 

_Another one bites the dust._

 

\--

 

Lucifer, donned in his linen shorts and short-sleeved shirt, enters the waiting room for Dr. Linda Martin and is immediately met with the familiar sound of sex. 

 

Not just any kind of sex, either, the kind he likes. The passionate type of sex that has Linda Martin moaning to the grunts of her male partner.

 

“Fuck me,” he hears her beg through the wall, her voice tense with desire and pleasure. 

 

He doesn’t even have to see her to know her position. He already can tell based on the muffling of her voice into what is most likely a pillow. 

 

He knows her favorite position, and whoever she is with is giving her what she most desires.

 

“Yessss,” she whines, “Just like that.”

 

Lucifer pauses and listens very pleased with a smile on his face. At least someone was getting what they wanted.

 

He moves to the chair, opting to wait until she is finished. The sounds flood his ears, and he checks to see if it has any effect on his erection. 

 

Nothing,  _still nothing_.

 

He sighs, and his eyes turn to the clock on the wall. He was willing to wait, to be patient. Normally, he would barge in - his time more important than whatever poor sap was in her chair. 

 

However, even he understands the importance of physical release. He imagines for someone having to listen to others’ problems all week, it might benefit her to have a morning sexual encounter. 

 

Still, he has much to do today. Between planning a dinner for Chloe, hunting down Daniel’s soul, and doing his regular duties at the LAPD …perhaps, he didn’t have time to just sit here?

 

He slowly stands and approaches the door.

 

A loud audible crack, like a hand meeting the flesh of her backside, is heard, and he pauses. He thinks it over again, before moving forward – adamant he needed answers.

 

He knocks loudly on the door, and inside, the sounds stop.

 

“Doctor Martin,” he says through the door.

 

He gets no response on the other side, but he hears shuffling inside and the sound of weight being distributed across creaky metal springs.

 

“I know you’re busy, but … I need to speak with you. It’s really quite urgent.”

 

He pauses again, listening for anything. Suddenly the door unlocks, and Linda pokes her head through. 

 

The smells of warm sex wafts out of the office, and Lucifer turns his eyes down to the surprised and slightly embarrassed Doctor.

 

“Lucifer,” she says, her hair disheveled and her shirt buttoned improperly.

 

He can see the flush of red on her chest from arousal and … physical activity.

 

“What are you doing here? Your appointment was yesterday.”

 

“Yes,” he says, “and my apologies for not showing but … it’s been rather busy on my end as you can imagine.”

 

“Lucifer, you’ve blown me off two days in a row, and now you want to talk? Can’t it wait?” she asks.

 

He shakes his head, “I only have a few hours.”

 

She looks behind her for a moment then slips her body through the crack in the door before closing it.

 

Her shoes are off, her blouse is improperly buttoned, and her skirt is on backwards.

 

“Okay,” she says, “Well, what is it?”

 

He sighs and nods, “It seems you may have been right,” he begins.

 

“That’s not specific,” she says, ready to get this interaction over with, “I’m right about most things. It’s kind of my job.”

 

“About the detective and … our lack of  _physicality_.”

 

She thinks for a moment, and her eyes soften when she remembers what she said. Her eyebrows raise as an understanding of the problem becomes apparent. 

 

Suddenly the annoyance in her voice slips, and she’s in doctor mode.

 

“Hmm,” she hums, “I see.”

 

“It appears that I may have some reservations about intimacy with her,” he says, “and … well, I’d like them cleared up. We have a date tonight that I am quite certain – and  _hopeful_  – will end in sex.”

 

She nods and ushers him to one of the seats in the waiting room.

 

He turns and sits as she sits next to him.

 

“Otherwise, I’m afraid I’m no use to the Detective, “he says, clarifying, “I just don’t understand. I’ve wanted nothing more since we first met, but …”

 

“You’re afraid you can't have your cake and eat it too,” Linda says.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “Doctor, you know more than anyone that I tend to have an  _oral_ fixation.”

 

“Not what I meant,” she says, “I mean … you’ve worked so hard to attain something, for example, cake - and now that you finally have it, you’re questioning if you’re eve hungry. It’s actually quite common. People tend to desire what they can’t have.”

 

He shakes his head again, “Doctor, please, let me explain,” he says, believing her not to be understanding his problem.

 

“I seem to not be able to have an erection, which, again as you would know, has never been an issue.”

 

Linda nods, “Yeah, I get your problem, Lucifer. Reality is setting in, and you’re concerned about what it might mean to be intimate with her,” Linda interrupts.

 

He shakes his head, “No,” he says, wondering where that came from, “I simply can’t achieve an erection. I suppose it might be a part of this …  _thing_  I’m going through but, I’ve had erections recently, _sporadic_  as they might be.”

 

Linda nods, her eyes narrowed as she looks at him. She keeps forgetting he needs a little more hand-holding than usual. 

 

She sighs and sits back in her chair. She doesn’t believe she has the patience to hold Lucifer’s hand today.

 

“Have you ever heard of something called the mind-body connection?” she asks.

 

He pauses, “Sounds familiar,” he says.

 

Linda nods, “The mind-body connection says that our thoughts, feelings, and beliefs can affect our physical functions.”

 

“Okay,” he says, not sure where this is going.

 

“So, the question is … what do you feel or believe about your relationship with Chloe that is preventing you from … well, achieving a physical reaction. Perhaps you are nervous?”

 

He scoffs, “Nervous? Doctor, that isn’t the issue. I've had sex before, I'm not a virgin. Surely you can attest to that.”

 

Linda sighs and turns back to the door.

 

 “Okay,” she says, leaning forward as is ready to pull up her sleeves and get dirty, “Here’s the deal. Normally I’d lead you through your own thought process until you come to a conclusion yourself, but let’s be honest you never _quite_  reach the conclusion I want you to. And I just don’t have the time today to ease you into this, so here it is: 

 _you’re scared_.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Doctor, what would I have to be scared of?”

 

“I don't know Lucifer," she says as if it were glaringly obvious, " Maybe you’ve spent your entire life having meaningless sex with anyone who desired it and now,  _now_  .... you’re scared because this is the first time that you  _might_  have sex with someone who cares _._  I mean,  _truly_ loves you, flaws and all. And considering that you have a clear self-esteem issue-“

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Okay,” he says, now feeling this conversation has gone off the railes.

 

“I’m not afraid of having sex, Dr. Martin. If anything, that’s the one thing I am certain of. Why would I be afraid of that?”

 

“You’re right, you’re not afraid of sex, Lucifer, you’re afraid of what happens after,” she says, raising her eyebrows, daring him to tell her she’s wrong.

 

He opens his mouth to say something, but he has no response.

 

“Chloe might be the only real chance at a relationship that you’ve ever had. Not just romantic, but she’s your  _friend_. Your …  _confidant_. Your intimacy goes far beyond the physical, and that is scary. That is love. She’s someone you can tell any weird secret to, and she’ll stay. You can even tell her you’re the devil. She's your equal, Lucifer. Perhaps that is hard for you to understand.”

 

Lucifer tightens his jaw, his eyes looking away from her. Wanting none of this to be true.

 

“So you’re afraid the thing you’ve been using to numb the pain might … might cause her pain. Emotional pain that is,” she says, clarifying.

 

“You’re wrong,” he says, shaking his head.

 

“Denial, Lucifer,” she says,” it’s just lying to yourself.

 

“The Detective and I have already been intimate,” he says, turning to her, “being afraid of that now is moot.”

 

She nods, “Mmm,” she hums, “except you don’t really count that. I mean you call it ‘ _the incident_.’”

 

He looks at her, offended by her words, but also feeling stripped bare. He shakes his head, trying to say something, but again, his brain can't produce anything.

 

“You’ve spent your entire existence secretly blaming yourself for your fall,” she says,” And that’s hard. It’s hard to admit fault. Especially when you’re so rolled up in your own ego that to escape the reality of what you’ve done to yourself, you drown the truth in liquor and women and money."

 

 

"You  _escape_  because it’s easier than facing the truth," she continues, "That is why I wanted to talk to you about your fall. Yet in  _every_  instance where I’ve tried to …  _gently_  lead you that direction, you ignore me. You … disassociate. So I’m not doing that anymore. I’m done holding your hand, Lucifer. Here’s your dose of tough love.”

 

“Doctor,” he says, “I’ve already spoken to the Detective about all that.”

 

She nods, “Maybe, but have you really sat with it? With that truth? With the feelings that come from it?”

 

He looks at her and doesn’t say anything. She already knows the answer.

 

She sighs and leans back in her chair as he stares forward, not saying anything. He was listening, that she was sure of and she supposes it is a good sign he hasn’t ran out yet like he usually does.

 

“I get bitten by a rabid dog as a child,” she says, sitting up, “every encounter I have with a dog from that point on is weighed against that bite. Likewise, if I am … abandoned - for lack of a better word - by my family. At a ... pivotal time in my development as a person, do I just  _accept_ that people love me and care for me? Or is there always the idea somewhere in my head that it could all change in an instant? That love  _always_  comes with a set of conditions?”

 

He scoffs, “How is this going to help me get my erections back?” 

 

He asks, trying to steer the conversation away like he always has. Linda doesn’t take the bait this time.

 

“Lucifer, admitting the truth to others is the first step in healing. It’s hard, and I’m glad that you’ve taken that step, but the lack of … _power_ behind your sex drive is a symptom, not a diagnosis. That day, with you and Chloe.  _That_  is what you are capable of, and you still are capable of that, but … you’re letting your trauma get in the way.”

 

He turns away from her, his jaw clenching again and a blue flame starting to burn in his eyes.

 

She leans forward, tucking her elbows to her sides, trying to catch his eyes.

 

“Simply put, if you want your erections back, you have to deal with everything, even the parts you don’t want to.”

 

He scoffs, “Why do I even bother coming here when you won’t even help me?” he growls.

 

She nods, her eyes turning to the floor. He was lashing out, but he wasn’t denying what she was saying. She turns to him, watching him lean forward, his leg shaking.

 

“It must have been painful to feel unwanted,” she says, her voice soft and low.

 

“Don’t … ,” he says, turning to her, unsure of what she is getting at but not liking the direction of her questioning.

 

She sees the blue in his eyes and gasps, sitting back. He watches her, his eyes drifting down, apologetic that he frightened her.

 

She slowly shifts in her seat, turning her torso to him.

 

“It must have been painful to feel like everyone was against you,” she continues, cautiously, “To have to hide your hurt behind all that charm and bravado. To have to _pretend_  you are so happy, for so long that you start to believe your own lie.”

 

He turns his eyes away from her, feeling exposed by what she is saying.

 

“I’m not a fool,” he says, his voice shaky and deep.

 

She shakes her head and places a hand cautiously on his shoulder. He turns to it, then to her.

 

“No, you’re not. You’re just hurting,” she says, “and all these years you’ve been drowning that pain in women and drugs and pretending that you’re some king here on earth. That you’re fine and that you need no one but yourself. Then one day, you meet someone who … sees through that lie. You meet someone you  _want_ to see through that lie.”

 

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his shorts, his head turned away from her.

 

“It must be nerve-wracking,” she says,” I get it. It must be  _petrifying_  to want to reach out. To be faced with your own rabid dog. To be afraid, you’ll get bitten. So far, your relationship with Chloe has been … quite platonic, and  _normal_.”

 

He scoffs, “Unfortunately,” he says. 

 

He swallows his spit, hoping it will push that feeling down back into his gut where it belongs. 

 

Instead, it’s at his throat, ready to come out. He didn’t want to feel that, he didn’t want to give that feeling a name. It didn’t  _deserve_  a name.

 

“It’s only right to imagine that sex might change that,” Linda continues, “That it will change the way she sees you. That maybe she too will stop loving you, and you’ll be sent right back to that place of hiding, of pretending. You’re nervous that wrong move can send you back to being –“

 

“Stop,” he says, not wanting to hear anymore.

 

Linda stares at him from his outburst. She can see him on the verge of cracking.

 

 “Just …  _stop_ ,” he says, turning to meet her eyes cautiously. 

 

“ _Alone_ ,” she finishes.

 

He closes his eyes, cringing at that word as if she stuck a knife into his soul and twisted it.

 

He stands up, not at all amused by her words, “I … I thought you could help me,” he says, his hands shaking and his voice cracking. 

 

Linda shakes her head and stands, “I am.”

 

“No you’re not,” he says, angrily “you’re talking …  _nonsense_  about stuff that doesn’t pertain to my issue.”

 

“It does, Lucifer. Why don’t you see that?” she says, a real concern in her eyes.

 

“I shouldn’t have come here,” he says, the blue flame burning brightly in his eyes. 

 

He turns and heads back to the door, “Go back to enjoying your morning.”

 

He quickly exits before she can say anything else that makes him want to vomit. Linda stands there. 

 

She sighs and shakes her head before turning and opening the door to her office.

 

Inside, Amenadiel sits shirtless on the folded-out mattress from her sofa.

 

He looks down at his hands, then back to her. She can see the sadness behind it.

 

She rolls her eyes, “Not you too,” she says.

 

“Why did you say those things to him?” he asks, unsure of whether he should be angry that she said those things to his brother, or sad that it was all true.

 

She smiles and sits next to him before draping her arm around his shoulder.

 

“He needed to hear it,” she says, “This is his process, Amenadiel. He’ll go into some spiral that will end in an understanding, and it will make him a better …  _angel_. My bet is he’s going to brood somewhere, figure out his emotions then return to Chloe with his problem solved.

 

“This is Lucifer we’re talking about here, Linda. What if he only makes it worse?” he asks.

 

She nods and deeply inhales before crossing her legs, “Then …. I’ll have to clear my schedule tomorrow.”

 

He shakes his head, unsure, and she presses a hand on his heart.

 

“Have more faith in him,” she says, “He’s already come so far.”

 

He scoffs, “Lucifer is still as selfish and self-involved as always,” he says with a chuckle.

 

She nods and shrugs, “Maybe.”

 

Maybe if he keeps running. Maybe if he keeps hiding but, she gets the distinct feeling that with Chloe around, he won’t hide anymore.

 

She hums to herself. She really is   _God-sent._ Linda pauses and thinks for a moment, not sure how true that might actually be.

 

She turns to Amenadiel, and her mind suddenly snaps back to him.

 

He laughs and shakes his head. She leans in to kiss him, and he reciprocates.

 

“We still have time,” she says between his lips while pulling him onto her.

 

He laughs to himself and positions himself back on top of her, the creaky springs of the mattress squealing beneath them.

 

\--

 

Inside her apartment, an older woman sits at a table watching the news. She brings a cup of tea up to her lips, her hand shaking – not through nervousness, but through her body showing the effects of age.

 

She is taking a slow and loud sip when there is a knock at her door. She turns to it, setting the cup down on the table. 

 

“Coming,” she says, before standing up and walking to the door. 

 

Her walk isn’t as fragile as she seems, but it’s clear she is slow and deliberate in her movements.

 

She opens the door to find Chloe standing there with a smile and a notepad.

 

“Hi, Mrs. Wells?” she says with a small smile, “I’m Detective Decker from the LAPD. I wanted to ask you a few questions about your neighbor? Frederick Miles?”

 

She nods and turns, walking back to her seat at the table while Chloe stands there awkwardly.

 

“Fred,” she says before she grimly hums.

 

Chloe takes the hint and enters the apartment, gently closing the door behind her.

 

“Far be it from me to gossip,” she says as she sits down, “But Fred was a mess.”

 

Chloe raises her eyebrows, shocked by her instant candor, and approaches the table before cautiously sitting next to her. 

 

She had expected to do a little asking before getting such direct answers.

 

The woman turns to Chloe, an odd exuberance in her tone.

 

“I’ve lived in this apartment for fifteen years, me and my late husband – Richard, God bless his soul – and I used to love this place. It was quiet and … normal.”

 

“So, Mr. Miles wasn’t quiet or normal?” Chloe asks.

 

The woman guffaws, “Fred? No, No, No … ” she says like that was not the descriptor she would have used.

 

“If it wasn’t his loud conversations or fighting, it was his …”

 

She leans in, whispering as if there was anyone else in the room.

 

“Sexual escapades,” she says as if talking to an old gal pal.

 

She chuckles and nods at the woman’s behavior.

 

“To be honest, it’s probably why his wife left him.”

 

Chloe raises her eyes, “He has a wife?”

 

“Ex-wife,” she says, “Virginia or … something along those lines. She used to come over often but – poor thing – she must have gotten tired of him. I would have too. He seemed like a layabout. Probably why she divorced him.”

 

Chloe nods, jotting the name down, she’d have to talk to this ex-wife. 

 

“I was told you heard arguing last week, on Friday. Can you tell me about that?” she asks, looking up from her notepad.

 

She nods and smiles, seemingly enjoying the company.

 

“Yes, it was one loud argument. Could hear it straight down the hall. I was going to call the cops, but … you know I don’t like to  _meddle_  in other’s business.” She says.

 

“Right,” Chloe says, her eyes narrowing. She gets a distinct feeling that is  _not_  the case.

 

Her eyes turn to the TV to see the channel covering an earthquake in Cairo. Above it sits a few potted plants and a magazine about gardening. The woman sees Chloe looking at the news and nods.

 

“Such sad news,” she says, “Seven people dead, thirteen more injured.”

 

Chloe nods, “Yeah,”

 

They stare at the TV for a moment before Chloe turns back to the woman.

 

“So, who do you think it was?” Chloe says, crossing her legs and leaning forward as if they were good friends, “The fighting you heard?”

 

“Hmm? Oh, I don’t know. I stayed in my apartment, but … whoever it was, they were angry,” she says.

 

“Maybe it was the ex-wife? Virginia?” she asks.

 

The woman shakes her head no and laughs, “No, it was definitely a man. He had a deep voice. I think it might have been a lover's quarrel.”

 

“You think he had a boyfriend?” Chloe says, her tone going up at the end in surprise.

 

She catches herself, getting caught up in gossip and uncrosses her legs, slipping back into her professionalism.

 

The woman nods, “He didn’t have many visitors. He was always making noise and again … sexual escapades, so the way they were arguing … it was like they were lovers.”

 

“What were they arguing about?” Chloe asks, jotting down that it is a male they are looking to question.

 

“I don’t know. They were loud, but these walls muffle quite a lot, but I gathered they were fighting about infidelity. There was a lot of … adult words being used. Body part specific,” she says.

 

Chloe nods.

 

“I see.”

 

The woman nods and lifts the cup of tea on the table to her lips. She pauses for a moment and turns to Chloe.

 

“Where are my manners,” she says, slowly standing up, “Would you like a cup of tea, dear?”

 

Chloe smiles and stands before slipping the notepad into her jacket pocket.

 

“No, actually, I have to get back to work, but I truly appreciate you spending time and talking to me.”

 

“Oh,” the woman says with a soft but deflated smile, “okay.”

 

Chloe turns to walk to the door, “But if I need any more information, would it be okay if I came back to interview you further?”

 

The woman smiles and nods, “Of course! I’ll be sure to offer you tea before we speak,” she says, laughing as she walks behind Chloe.

 

Chloe opens the door and steps out into the hallway.

 

“Thank you, Ms. Wells,” she says.

 

“Please, call me Paisley,” she says.

 

Chloe smiles and nods before walking down the hall. 

 

Paisley stands there for a moment before shutting the door.

 

\--

 

In the hallway, Chloe walks one door down to where an officer stands, his eyes deep into his phone.

 

She walks by him, and he barely looks up and opens the door to Frederick Miles’s apartment. She walks in and pauses when she sees Ella standing feet away from the edge of the sofa. 

 

On the couch, perched on the armrest, a woman pats her red eyes with tissues and sniffles. 

 

Ella turns to Chloe.

 

“Chloe!” she says.

 

“Uh,” Chloe says, “What is going on?”

 

“Meet Regina,” Ella says, “Our vic- … Frederick’s wife.”

 

She sniffles and dabs the tissue beneath her nose, “Ex-wife she clarifies, I left Fred three years ago.”

 

Chloe nods and closes the door behind her before approaching the sitting woman.

 

“When was the last time you spoke with your ex-husband?” Chloe asks.

 

“On the phone? Fred wasn’t really a phone person, but I stopped by and spoke with him often.”

 

Ella interrupts, “Also, Did I forget to mention she climbed through the window?”

 

Chloe turns to see the window to the fire escape wide open.

 

“The window?” Chloe asks.

 

Regina nods, “Fred has this really nosy neighbor down the hall, Peony or something like that.”

 

“Paisley,” Chloe corrects, familiar with who she is talking about.

 

“She’s one of those nosy old hags who is in everybody’s business. I stopped by a few times, and every time I would catch her watching me through the crack in her door. I hated it,” she says.

 

“So, Fred got you to come in through the window?” Chloe asks.

 

Regina nods, “it was my idea.”

 

Chloe crosses her arms and turns her eyes away, thinking for a moment.

 

“Were you and your … ex-husband having a physical relationship?” Chloe asks.

 

The woman lets go of a long sigh and nods, “Yes. He … we were technically separated, not divorced,” she says, “and despite our problems, we truly did love each other.”

 

“So, then why were you separated?” Chloe asks.

 

The woman pauses and lowers her hands to her lap. Here she fiddles with the tissue before turning her gaze to the window.

 

“We uhm,” she begins, turning back to Chloe, “We lost a child. He was uhm ...”

 

She clears her throat, trying to push down that feeling bubbling up, “Sorry,” she says at her cough, “He was only six.”

 

Chloe unfolds her arms, “Oh,” she says, “I’m … so sorry to hear that.”

 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding, that sadness behind her eyes only multiplying, “Fred wasn’t the same after Johnathon died. He kept blaming himself, but I tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault.”

 

“Did you seek counseling?” Chloe asks.

 

The woman shakes her head.

 

“Fred was a … not secretive but … he didn’t like to talk much. I think that’s what attracted me to him. We were both very … tight with our information. I could trust him, and he could trust me. He was like … fort Knox. I could tell him anything, and I knew it would stay between him and me.”

 

Chloe nods, and Ella turns to head back to what she was doing before Regina knocked on the window. Regina watches her walk away and turns back to Chloe.

 

“So the idea of trying to get him to talk about his feeling with someone else was … laughable. Still, I tried,” she says, her eyes staring at a spot on the ground, “I failed every time, but I tried.”

 

She turns her eyes back up to Chloe.

 

“Eventually, he became more closed off. We fought about everything. It was hard enough grieving the loss of a child, but … having to grieve the loss of a husband? Anyone would have done what I did.”

 

Chloe nods, “So you left him, that is understandable.”

 

She shakes her head, “No, I gave him an ultimatum. Seek help or … move out.”

 

She looks around the apartment and scoffs to herself, a small but sad smile on her face.

 

“As you can see, I didn’t really think that one through.”

 

Chloe narrows her eyes, “So he moved out, but you two were still … together? I’m sorry, I’m confused.”

 

“Yeah,” she says, “Me too. I visited Fred a few times a week, you know … doing his laundry, making sure he had clean socks. Sometimes, we would make love, and sometimes we would just lay in bed and talk.”

 

“What did you talk about?” Chloe asks.

 

“Anything and everything. Everything but Johnathon.”

 

Regina sighs and stands up. She looks around the apartment as if waiting for something to happen. 

 

For Fred to pop out and say it was a joke. For him to suggest, this was some sick way of him saying he wanted to move back in. But it is silent. 

 

She turns back to Chloe, “I thought he was getting better. Do you … think he did it to himself?” she asks.

 

“We don’t know yet,” Chloe says.

 

“But we will certainly rule out every option. Did you two ever fight?” Chloe asks, crossing her arms and shifting on her legs.

 

Regina laughs, “Honey, we were married. We fought all the time and usually about stupid things … in hindsight. Him leaving the toilet seat up – in his own apartment no less. Him not answering the phone…”

 

“What about last Friday, did you fight last Friday?”

 

Regina looks at Chloe, a grim look on her face. She shakes her head.

 

“No, he said he wasn’t feeling well, so I didn’t get to speak with him,” she says.

 

“The neighbors said they heard fighting that night, I was wondering if it might have been you?” she says.

 

Regina shakes her head, “No, wasn’t me. It was his boss,  _Greg_.”

 

“Greg?” Chloe says, “you say his name with such animosity.”

 

Regina nods.

 

“Yes, well … he knows what he did.”

 

Chloe nods.

 

“So, you saw him fighting with Fred that night?” Chloe asks, getting back onto the line of questioning.

 

Regina nods, “I stopped by that night, like I usually do, and climbed the fire escape … again, as usual. When I came to his window, I saw he was in the middle of a loud argument with Greg.”

 

“Greg … ” Chloe says fishing for a full name.

 

Regina nods, “Gregory … uhm, Gregory Frank, I think. He has two names that sound like they should be first names, It’s fucking stupid.”

 

Chloe chuckles.

 

“What were they fighting about?” Chloe asks.

 

Regina shakes her head, “I don’t know. I only caught the tail end of it. Fred was saying he would never work for a person like Greg and told him to keep his job. I guess he quit or something.”

 

“Person like Greg? What did he mean by that?” Chloe asks.

 

Regina shrugs, “Like I said. Fred was … quiet. He didn’t talk much, and I guess he and Greg became good friends. I guess you would kind of have to be. Fred was Greg’s only employee. If it weren’t for Fred, he would pretty much be running that entire place by itself. I kept telling him he should ask for a raise.”

 

“At the Rocket Ship,” Chloe says, a question that is more like a confirmation.

 

Regina nods. She turns her head behind her and glances at the opening to the hallway. 

 

Fred should be here, she thinks, was he really gone? This didn’t feel right.

 

“So, what happened after the fight?” Chloe asks.

 

Regina turns back to her, “Uhm,” she says, her eyes turning upward as she remembers.

 

“Greg left, I knocked on the window, Fred came over and opened the window. I asked him what was wrong and he said he didn’t want to talk about it. Not that I expected him to say anything, but … a girl can dream,” she says with a small smile.

 

Chloe offers her a small smile in return.

 

“I asked if I could come in, and he said he wasn’t feeling up to it tonight. So, I said okay. He shut the window, and I left.”

 

“So, as far as you know, when you left, he was fine?”

 

She nods, “He had a little cough, but … that’s about it.”

 

“A cough?” Chloe asks, “for how long?”

 

Regina shrugs, “I don’t know. I saw him a few days prior, and he seemed fine.”

 

“Hmm,” Chloe says, nodding, “He had allergies. Do you know what to?”

 

Regina laughs, “Fred was allergic to a lot of things. I mean, he’d swell up at the drop of a dime if he even  _looked_  at turmeric.”

 

“Anything bad enough to be fatal?” she asks.          

 

Regina nods, “Pine nuts, mushrooms … crawfish. We avoided them like the plague. Our honeymoon was in Italy, you can imagine how well that went.”

 

Chloe smiles.

 

Regina’s smile falls into a frown.

 

“Things used to be so good,” she says, turning her eyes back to the window, “Now I’m climbing through the window looking for a man who … stopped being there a long time ago.”

 

She turns back to Chloe, a sadness in her eyes. She shakes her head, tears welling up in her eyes again as she tries to stop it from happening. 

 

Tries to stop that feeling from sinking its teeth into her. 

 

Fred  _was_  gone. 

 

He was the last remnant of a life she had before. When things were good, and she was the mother of a beautiful boy and the wife to a man who loved her just as much as she loved him. 

 

And now she was childless. 

 

A _nd now she was a widow._

 

She closes her eyes tightly, still shaking her head. She didn’t want it to sink in. It hadn’t fully sunk in.

 

She exhales, her cheeks swelling with air as it leaves her lungs as she tries to shake it off. To pull herself out of that reality settling in.

 

“Can ..,” she begins, wiping the tears from the bottom of her eyes, “When will I be able to see him? To say goodbye.”

 

Chloe pauses, her eyes raised, “Oh, uhm … Ella?”

 

Ella comes out of the hallway holding an evidence bag filled with cat litter, “Yeah?”

 

“Any ETA on when the body will be released?” Chloe asks.

 

“Oh,” she says, “Uhm … the medical examiner performed the autopsy last night. We should be getting the report and the body today, so you should be getting a call within a day or two to collect his remains.”

 

Regina nods and dabs her eyes again.

 

“I do want to warn you,” Ella says, “ he did sustain some trauma to his face, so, unfortunately, he won’t be recognizable.”

 

“Oh,” she says, unsure of how to take that.

 

“Do you know of anyone who might want to hurt Fred?” Chloe asks.

 

Regina turns to her and opens her eyes, the water that was welling in her eyes falling.

 

“Uhm,” she says, wiping the tear with the tissue in her hand, “No. Like I said, he was quiet and kept to himself. Even before … even before Johnathon. He was the type of guy that listened, and even if he didn’t say anything, you knew … you  _knew_  he heard you. Sometimes at night, before we were separated, we’d just lay in bed and talk. Or rather, I would talk, and he would listen and nod.”

 

She stares off into the distance. It was the most loved and wanted she had ever felt.

 

“We had our problems,” she says, turning back to her, “but … he was the love of my life. I was hoping one day he would … get it together, see what he was doing, but … I guess that will never happen, huh?”

 

Chloe nods, “I am truly sorry for your loss,” she says.

 

Regina nods, “Yeah, me too,” she says sadly.

 

“One last question, “Chloe says, “did you and Fred ever work together?”

 

Regina furrows her eyes, “Uh … no,” she says.

 

“So, you would never consider Fred, a client? Or a customer?”

 

Regina shakes her head no and frowns, indicating she had no clue why this was a line of questioning.

 

“Was there any other woman – to your knowledge – in Fred’s life? You were separated, but maybe he had a girlfriend or acquaintance?”

 

Regina shakes her head, “He didn’t get out much. If he wasn’t working or bowling, he was here, hanging out with Boots.”

 

“Boots?” Chloe asks.

 

“His cat, Mr. Boots.”

 

“Awwwww, Mr. Boots!” Ella says excitedly, finding that name cute. 

 

Regina and Chloe turn to see Ella standing in the hallway, listening, waiting. Regina turns back to Chloe.

 

“Would it be possible for me to get Mr. Boots?” she asks, “Fred was meticulous about that cat and … well, I kind of grew a little fond of him too.”

 

Chloe nods, “Once we’re sure he isn’t considered evidence, we’ll release him to you. What about bowling? Could he have met someone there?”

 

Regina shrugs, “Maybe. That’s one habit I couldn’t break him from. He was a part of some bowling team… something rangers … I honestly didn’t ever pay attention. When I asked him to forgo a bowling night to go to counseling, he got so angry I just stopped asking.”

 

“What bowling alley did he go to?” Chloe asks.

 

“The Flying Llama,” she replies.

 

Chloe nods and writes this down.

 

They sit there for a moment, Regina looking around and fumbling with her tissue.

 

“if I have any further questions, I’ll be sure to contact you,” Chloe says, turning to the door and opening, indicating Regina should leave.

 

Regina nods and turns, heading back towards the window.

 

“Uh,” Chloe says.

 

“Sorry, force of habit,” she says as she turns and heads out the door. 

 

Chloe closes it behind her and walks a few steps into the living room.

 

“What are you thinking, Captain?” Ella says.

 

Chloe turns to her, the wheels spinning behind her head.

 

“The woman in the voicemail referred to Fred as a client. If Regina never had a working relationship with him, then it couldn’t have been her. Plus, she was actually here the night of his death. She wouldn’t have called and left a voicemail wondering where he was.”

 

Ella nods, “That explains the lack of extra fingerprints on the window too. She said Fred opened and closed the window for her, so her fingerprints wouldn’t have been on them.”

 

Ella pauses, “So then why was the window cracked?”

 

They stand there for a moment, both in silence.

 

Chloe sighs and turns around, “You don’t need me here, right?”

 

Ella pauses, “well, I was going to walk you through the scene.”

 

Chloe turns around, shaking her head, “Sorry, right. Yes.”

 

“You okay?” Ella says

 

Chloe nods, “Yeah, I just …the lieutenant is shadowing this case, and I want to make sure everything is … right, you know?”

 

Ella smiles, “It’s all good, Chloe. Just … relax. You got this,” she says in a way that makes it seems as though she may have found some marijuana in the apartment and tested its efficacy the old-fashioned way.

 

Chloe nods, “Okay, walk me through this, and then I’ll head over to the bowling alley.”

 

“Step on into my office,” she says, directing Chloe down the hall with her hand. 

 

Chloe pulls a pair of gloves out of her jacket pocket and walks into the hallway.

 

\--

Inside his penthouse, Lucifer sits at his piano, nude from head to toe. He plays the keys softly, producing a sad and haunting tune as his eyes stare out into nothingness. 

 

He doesn’t blink, he just stares.

 

His eyes snap to the keys as he plays, and they follow along with each new key he presses. His eyes are moving, but it is a mindless movement. 

 

His stare is vacant, and his hands just provide something for his eyes to focus on while his mind is elsewhere.

 

A quick gust of wind blows through as Amenadiel stands on the balcony outside of his penthouse. 

 

He approaches the door and reaches out to the handle only to find it locked. He sighs and lowers his shoulders.

 

“Luci,” he says, seeing Lucifer playing the piano.

 

Lucifer doesn’t respond.

 

“Lucifer!” He says, tapping on the glass.

 

Lucifer’s eyes snap up to him, and he stops playing.

 

Amenadiel jiggles the door then raises his hands, upset at being locked out. 

 

Lucifer slides out from the piano, and immediately his hand moves down to his crotch, covering his genitals. 

 

Amenadiel tilts his head curiously. He wasn’t interested in staring at his brother's genitals either, but he found it odd the sudden sense of privacy Lucifer demanded. 

 

He had seen Lucifer nude enough times to paint a picture. 

 

Why suddenly was he shy?

 

Lucifer walks with purpose, slowly towards the door before climbing the few steps to the patio door and unlocking it. He slides the door open and looks at Amenadiel.

 

“Your insistence on entering my apartment through the balcony is becoming bothersome.”

 

Amenadiel rolls his eyes as Lucifer turns and heads back into his living room.

 

“As much as I hate to prod,” he says, “what’s with the modesty?”

 

Lucifer turns to him, a quizzical look on his face. Amenadiel points to Lucifer’s hand, currently gripping as much as he can of his genitals.

 

Lucifer looks down and notices his hand placement. He didn’t even realize he was doing that.

 

“Oh,” he says, “I just … I hadn’t noticed.”

 

He removes his hand, proudly presenting himself.

 

“Right, sorry I asked,” Amenadiel says weirdly as he approaches in the living room, “Well, I have some news about Daniel.’

 

“Oh?” Lucifer says, walking up the steps into his closet, feeling odd about being fully nude now that Amenadiel had pointed it out.

 

“I watched him have a muscle spasm in his legs,” Amenadiel says, “It means he’s getting movement back, which means-“

 

“He’s going to walk soon,” Lucifer says, from his closet.

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

“His behavior isn’t changing either. Its apparently becoming worse,” Amenadiel says, crossing his arms.

 

“Yes, well, having no soul does strange things to mo-“ Lucifer says, coming out of his closets wearing a pair of linen shorts. 

 

He pauses, a strange heat climbing up his neck.

 

“Mor-“ he tries again, nausea climbing into his head and a strange unsettling in his stomach.

 

He gags, and Amenadiel looks at him oddly.

 

“Luci?” he asks.

 

“Mor-“ he says again before gagging and pulling a closed fist to his mouth and swallowing. 

 

Here he stands patiently, gauging that physical feeling in his throat. When it dissipates, he reaches down and places a hand on his stomach as a dizziness sets in.

 

Lucifer holds out his finger, telling Amenadiel to wait. He takes a few deep breaths, waiting until the nausea subsides, and his body goes back to being just moderately hot.

 

“Are you okay?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer stands and feigns a smile, “Fine,” he says, “Just a little hiccup. No need to worry.”

 

Lucifer looks around for a moment before seeing his shirt draped over the arm of the sofa. He descends the steps to his bedroom and reaches for the shirt.

 

Amenadiel looks at him concerned as he slides his arms into the short-sleeved linen shirt and descends the steps into his living room.

 

“It seems we have our task today,” Lucifer says, “Find Daniel’s soul.”

 

“We are in agreeance, “Amenadiel says, crossing his arms and watching Lucifer, “but how? You said yourself we have yet to narrow down one demon, and if word catches out about Daniel’s soul, we’ll never find it.”

 

Lucifer grunts and nods to himself.

 

“We could ask Daniel,” Amenadiel says, “go straight to the source,” Amenadiel suggests.

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “No. He wasn’t the most honest of humans when he had a conscience. Imagine him without a soul? He’d quicker tell us the sky was orange than to give us what we wanted.  _Especially_ me.”

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, “I can’t be sure, but … I think soulless Daniel  _actually_  hates me.”

 

Amenadiel chuckles, “I can’t imagine why,” he says sarcastically.

 

Lucifer hums and nods. He can’t imagine why, either.

 

Lucifer continues to nods as he buttons his shirt, his eyes staring out into nothingness again. 

 

His mind has switched from thinking about Daniel to thinking about something else.  

 

Something that …  _bothers_  him. 

 

Amenadiel watches him, his concern about Daniel slowly fading into a concern about Lucifer.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks.

 

“Hmm?” Lucifer asks, popping his head up.

 

“Would you like to … talk about anything?” Amenadiel asks. An awkwardness in him about offering.

 

Lucifer inhales, as if the thought of a one on one with Amenadiel was painful, “Brother as much as I’d love the opportunity to sip tea and talk about girls, Finding Daniel’s soul should be our number one priority.”

 

“it won't be easy,” Amenadiel says crossing his arms, throwing away the idea of a one on one with Lucifer right now. Clearly, he was still in … what did Linda call it? Brooding?

 

“Like hell, it will,” Lucifer says confidently,” We’ve already mentioned our biggest problems is that demons like to talk. Why not use that against them?” 

 

Amenadiel narrows his eyes and nods, “If they like to talk, it means they like to talk to each other. So, one of them has to know who reaped Dan.”

 

“Exactly,” Lucifer says pleased. 

 

He reaches down to fix the cuffs on his shirt until he realizes he doesn’t have cuffs. He looks at his outfit again, displeased.

 

“So what do we do? Go up to them and ask if they know who did it?”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “No, we simply just … talk with them. They are a gossipy lot, crossroad demons. We want to know something, we simply convince them we don’t care to know.”

 

“So, you’re going to … lie to them?”

 

Lucifer scoffs,” Don’t be silly, Amenadiel. Lying is telling them I don’t care. What I intend to do is … not correct them when they assume.”

 

Amenadiel narrows his eyes. 

 

That sounded a lot like manipulation, a lot like  _someone_  he knows.

 

He nods to himself.

 

“That seems an awful lot like lying, Lucifer.”

 

“Well, it’s not,” he says, turning to the elevator. 

 

He walks a few steps before he then snaps around to Amenadiel.

 

“And quite frankly I wouldn’t care either way but ... Daniel means quite a lot to the Detective. So …”

 

Amenadiel nods in understanding.

 

“So, you’re going to use your gift on a demon?” Amenadiel says, trying to foresee all the ways in which this is will go horribly wrong.

 

Lucifer smiles widely, “I don’t have to brother. I’m the devil.”

 

 

\--

 

Back at the precinct, a smiling Ella walks towards her lab, a manila file in her hand. 

 

She joyfully strolls before turning and entering the bullpen. Here she immediately turns into her lab and pauses to find Maze sitting by her lab table, leaning back in wait.

 

Ella tosses her an odd look, surprised she is there.

 

“Your boss is a demon,” Maze says flatly.

 

Ella smiles and chuckles before walking further into her lab and setting the box on her table.

 

“She’s not  _that_  bad,” Ella says, walking around the table to her computer.

 

Maze turns with her, “She’s exactly that bad. She’s not afraid of bodily harm. She doesn’t take no for an answer. Either she’s immensely stubborn, or she’s a demon.”

 

“Oh, come on,” Ella says, “Lieutenant Edwards is really cool once you get to know her. She’s  _not_  a demon.”

 

Maze shakes her head, “Nah. I’ve been around enough demons to know.”

 

Ella hits the keyboard on her computer, and it pops to life.

 

“I’m sure of it,” Maze says as she leans against the table, her eyes narrowing, “my senses are tingling.”

 

Ella laughs, “You're paranoid.”

 

Ella turns and watches Natalie through the glass wall that separates them.

 

“She’s like … mysterious and powerful, but just beneath it is a snuggly bear just waiting for love.”

 

Maze furrows her eyebrows, “I hope not. It would suck to know I’m being bested by a … ‘snuggly bear,’” she says.

 

Maze shakes her head. No human is like that, like  _her_. No, she is a demon. She  _has_ to be. Maze intends to prove it.

 

Ella smiles and turns back to her computer, “What you’re reading as demon behavior could just be … you know, her being a strong, independent woman.”

 

“Mmm,” Maze hums as she stares at Natalie suspiciously. 

 

Ella watches the way she stares and tilts her head curiously.

 

“You know,” Ella says after a while, her tone soft and cautious as if she were bringing up something that would be awkward.

 

“The thing between you and I … that was just a fluke,” she says.

 

Maze turns to her.

 

“What thing?”

 

Ella gives her a look as if to suggest she should know. As if offended that she didn’t know.

 

“Oh,” Maze says, catching it, “the sex? You’re still on that?”

 

Ella lowers her shoulders, indicating she was surprised and disappointed in Maze’s response.

 

“Of course I am!” she says, “ I –“

 

She pauses, then shakes that anger off her. This is just how Maze was, she didn’t mean anything by it.

 

“I’m just  _saying_ , “Ella says, “If you wanted to like … pursue something with someone else, I’d be okay with that. In fact, that would take the pressure off me severely.”

 

“Pressure?” Maze asks.

 

Ella nods and shrugs, “Well yeah. You know …”

 

Maze chuckles, “Lopez, I’ve had sex with three other humans since I fell asleep on you. They were all horrible at it but can’t really blame them. You guys only get so much time to practice.”

 

Maze shrugs and stands up, “Any pressure you are putting on yourself is all in your head. See, I told you this was a bad idea.”

 

“Maybe,” Ella says, looking down at the desk. 

 

Perhaps this was the one instance in which Maze knew what she was talking about? 

 

Maze watches her and sees the look in on Ella’s face. 

 

It doesn’t make her feel good.

 

 _Hmm_ , she thinks,  _feel._

 

“Listen,” Maze says casually as she pretends, she doesn’t care. 

 

She supposes she … maybe,  _kinda_ cares. 

 

No big deal. 

 

_Whatever._

 

Ella sees right through the pretense; she can see the inkling of hurt behind Maze’s nonchalant behavior.

 

“If you want to forget I ate you out, I’m sure we can arrange something with feather boy,” she says.

 

Ella’s eyebrows furrow, confusion behind her eyes.

 

“Why would I want to do that?” she asks, “Maze … I had a  _really_  good time.”

 

“I know,” Maze says with a grin.

 

Ella rolls her eyes but can’t help but smile.

 

“So, you were right. I put a lot more … weight on to sex than you do. Maybe we shouldn’t have done what we did, but … I was sad. And hurting.” She says, thinking about that night.

 

She turns to Maze, “I … let myself get carried away too quickly with someone I had  _literally_  just met. I mean, we only spoke  _twice_ and … and I let myself like him. I mean,  _really_  like him.”

 

Maze frowns, “I know, Lopez.”

 

Ella shrugs, “You, in your own way, made me feel better and … maybe it shouldn’t have happened the way it did, but … it worked. I felt better.”

 

Maze nods.

 

“So, I guess, thank you?” Ella asks, unsure if she should be thanking Maze for that.

 

Maze smiles, “You are absolutely welcome and if you ever want to –“

 

Ella shakes her head, stopping Maze there.

 

“I think we’ve done enough,” she says with a smirk.

 

Maze shrugs, “Can’t say I didn’t offer.”

 

Ella laughs as Maze turns her glance back towards the Lieutenant. There is an intrigue behind her eyes. 

 

She was … a stone wall, hard to tear down, and even harder to read.

 

“Besides, I wouldn’t want to mess things up with my game buddy,” Ella says, laughing.

 

 Maze doesn’t respond, and she looks up to catch Maze staring at Natalie again.

 

“So…, “ Ella says, “like I was saying if you wanted to like …pursue something with someone I’d be down for that. I could even help you.”

 

Maze turns her head to Ella, “What are you-,” she begins until she sees the way Ella is looking at her and how her eyes are bouncing back and forth between her and Natalie.

 

Maze looks shocked.

 

“What, with her?” she asks.

 

Ella smiles and nods.

 

Maze shakes her head, “No, no,  _no_. She’s a goody-two-shoes, a stickler for the rules, and I’m pretty sure she’s demonic in some sense. You know I’m not into demons. No, that is _not_  what is happening.”

 

Ella laughs, “Okay,” she says unconvinced.

 

Maze turns her head back to watching Natalie in her office, “No, my only interest is in figuring out what makes her tick, what makes her afraid … then …  _then_ I exploit the shit out of it and get what I want.”

 

Ella laughs as her eyes turn up to the precinct steps to see Liz coming descending into the bullpen. 

 

A wave of heat rolls over her body.

 

“Shit,” she says as she reaches for the phone on her desk and starts to dial the Lieutenant’s desk number.

 

“What?” Maze says, noticing the sudden panic in her voice and mannerisms. She immediately reaches for her blades and turns around to see the woman coming down the stairs.

 

She looks normal, bland even. She wears a fitted black dress, one that isn’t too short or too tight, a blue cardigan sweater with minimal jewelry and nude heels.

 

She takes her time coming down the stairs, a smile on her face as she greets the officers. It’s like she knows them. They don’t seem too fond of her, though.

 

\--

 

Inside Natalie’s office, she sits at her desk, deep into a case file when her phone starts to ring.

 

She reaches over and grabs it, not taking her eyes off the document.

 

“Edwards,” she answers.

 

“Liz is in the bullpen,” she hears a familiar voice say. 

 

She turns her eyes up to see Ella on the phone, staring directly at her.

 

“What?” she asks, unsure she had heard what she heard.

 

“Liz. She’s in the bullpen. She’s coming your way,” Ella says.

 

Natalie turns to see Liz walking with a smile towards her office. Her heart immediately starts beating fast as the blood drains from her face. 

 

She turns her eyes back to the file in front of her, her brain working overtime as she tries to figure out what to do.

 

“I see,” she says gravely.

 

“What do you want me to do?” Ella asks.

 

“I-,” Natalie says as Liz approaches the office door and knocks.

 

“Knock, Knock,” she says with a smile.

 

Natalie turns her eyes up to Liz and raises them as if she is surprised. 

 

She is. 

 

She is  _very_  surprised.

 

Natalie ushers her in with her hand.

 

“I appreciate your gusto Lopez,” she says into the phone, “but I assure you this is not an LAPD matter and will remain as such.”

 

She hangs up the phone and turns to Liz, who takes a seat in front of her desk.

 

“Still killing them softly, I see,” Liz says with a grin.

 

Natalie smiles, her eyes going down Liz’s body.

 

“Still wearing cardigans, I see,” she says.

 

\--

 

Inside the lab, Ella stands with the phone receiver in her hand. She slowly places it back on to the base, a look of shock in her face.

 

She was just hung up on. Should she feel bad about that?

 

“Who’s that?” Maze says, nodding to the woman who just took a seat in Natalie’s Office.

 

“Liz,” she says, her mind off somewhere else. She brings it back, realizing Maze is talking to her.

 

“Liz?” Maze asks.

 

Ella nods, “Elizabeth Candler. She’s a big shot lawyer from the Castle and Kinsley. They are one of the biggest law firms in the southwest and close an abnormally high percentage of cases. She also happens to be the Lieutenant’s Ex.”

 

Maze looks at her, her eyebrows furrowed as to why she knows all of this.

 

Ella shrugs, “I googled her,” she says.

 

Maze nods, that makes sense. She turns back to watch the two women talking.

 

“She’s like ... the Lieutenant’s kryptonite.”

 

“What?” Maze asks.

 

“You know … Superman, kryptonite.”

 

Maze looks at her like she’s not speaking English.

 

“Achilles heel?” Ella asks, wondering if that rings a bell,

 

Maze still has that look.

 

“Her weakness,” she says, flatly.

 

Maze raises her eyes, “Oh, _Really_?”

 

Maze hums, the intrigue behind it palatable.  

 

She turns back to watch the interaction happening in Natalie’s office.

 

 _This_  was information she could use.

 

\--

 

“Wow,” Liz says, looking around the office with a look of approval on her face.

 

“ _Lieutenant_ , huh?”

 

Natalie nods.

 

“Yes,” she says blankly, “I got a promotion, and shortly after, I was here. Just another testament to what hard work and dedication can do.”

 

“That’s … that’s great. Congratulations. You worked really hard to get here, “ Liz says.

 

Natalie nods, “That I did.”

 

They sit in awkward silence for a moment. Well, mostly uncomfortable for Liz. Natalie seems unbothered.

 

“It’s great to see you,” Liz says, crossing her legs and sitting back in the chair, “ _God,_  what has it been? Two years?”

 

“Give or take,” Natalie says.

 

They sit there for a moment, and Liz’s smile falls at the silence.

 

“So, how have you been?” she asks.

 

“Fine,” Natalie says, leaning back in her chair, “I’ve been well.”

 

Liz nods, waiting for Natalie to ask her how she has been. Natalie begins to rock back and forth in her chair, her hands folded in her lap. 

 

The chair audibly squeaks, making the silence in the room all the more noticeable.

 

Liz waits for longer than she anticipated for a response.

 

“Well, I’m good too,” Liz finally says, “We just put a down payment on a house in the hills, so that’s been … interesting. You know, dealing with real estate agents and  _other_  lawyers.”

 

Liz chuckles, and Natalie nods, not finding anything about this situation amusing in the slightest.

 

Liz sighs and relaxes her shoulders, defeated from trying to make small talk. 

 

She should already know Natalie isn’t a small talk person, especially not after what happened.

 

“Nat,” she says, “I uhm, I know things didn’t end well with us and … I realize you may still be  _livid_  with me-,”

 

“I’m not angry,” Natalie says.

 

Liz pauses, it sure felt like she was angry.

 

“Nat,” she says, her tone long and her head drooping as if to indicate Nat shouldn’t lie to her.

 

“I had my time to be cross,” Natalie says, “Now … now I am wholly disinterested. It is what it is. I’ve moved on.”

 

Liz nods, “Mmm, I heard. That’s good. I’m glad you found someone.”

 

Natalie briefly wonders if she should correct her. 

 

If she should give in to the truth that she hadn’t found someone. That she had, contrary to what she just told Liz, not moved on. 

 

No, instead, she had spent the better part of the last two years trying to let go of it and failing utterly. 

 

She had tried to shake the hurt, but only found it had dug its nude heels into her skin and wouldn’t budge.

 

Still, Natalie didn’t like being a part of a lie that wasn’t hers, even when it made her seem less pathetic. 

 

She would lie to Liz about moving on, Liz couldn’t prove that. But Liz was a lawyer, and a damn good one tat that. It wouldn’t take long for her to figure out she hadn’t been seeing anyone, at least anyone meaningful.

 

“To that point-“ Natalie begins as if she is about to correct a clerical error. 

 

Just then, Liz’s phone rings. Liz goes into her phone and pulls it out. 

 

She immediately recognizes the name, and a small smile comes to her face.

 

“Oh, hold on one second,” she says as she answers.

 

“Hey,” Liz says into the phone. 

 

Her tone is light, and her word elongated as if she was holding herself from following that word with another. 

 

Something else like babe, or honey, or some other sadly sweet word of affection.

 

“Yeah,” Liz says, before pausing.

 

Natalie turns her eyes up to the window, where she finds Ella and Maze a captive audience. 

 

Ella turns away as soon as she realizes the Lieutenant sees her. Maze, on the other hand, continues to watch. 

 

Natalie narrows her eyes and turns back to Liz.

 

“Yeah, I just stopped by Nat’s office to see about the wedding,” Liz says. She pauses again, listening to the voice on the other end.

 

She smiles to herself and nods, “Okay, yeah … okay!” she says, laughing.

 

“Listen, I got to go, alright? Okay. Love you too,” she says before ending the phone call. 

 

“Sorry,” she says to Natalie, stuffing the phone back into her purse, “Planning a wedding has been … a pain in the ass.”

 

She turns to Natalie and sighs, “One piece of advice? Don’t ever get married,” she laughs.

 

Natalie, again, isn’t amused.

 

“I won’t,” she says, “You know I’m not the wedding type. Marriage is a just social contract with religious connotations. As you are well aware, I’m not a religious person and … I’m not very social. The most I’d ever do is sign a will. Maybe write someone off on my taxes.”

 

Liz chuckles to herself, “Mmm,” Liz says, feigning interest, “tell me more about your romantic inclinations,” she says.

 

Liz laughs, but again Natalie isn’t. There is a tense silence there, and their eyes meet. Liz sighs again and prepares herself.

 

“Listen, again, I know things ended poorly with us … but I wanted to … see you again, have you be a part of this moment. Did you get my invitation?”

 

Natalie nods, “I did.”

 

“So? What do you think? Can you make it? I kind of need an answer by tonight,” Liz says.

 

Natalie furrows her eyebrows, “Tonight?”

 

Liz nods, “Yeah, did you even look at the invitation?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “I’ve been busy.”

 

Liz scoffs and shakes her head, “Same ol’ Nat,” she says, “Too busy to read a piece of paper.”

 

“Being a Lieutenant is constant work,” Natalie says, defending herself, “It’s not unheard of for me to take my work home after putting in a full day.”

 

“And what else hasn’t changed?” she asks, “do you still insist on sleeping with a knife beneath your pillow? Perhaps you blow a fuse when a shoe is out of place?”

 

Liz shakes her head and stands, “ _God_ , Nat. I’ve missed you, I have but … when are you going to wake up? When are you just going to …  _live a little_?”

 

 “If you’ve come to extend an olive branch,” Natalie says, not liking where this conversation is going, “you’re doing a poor job,” she says.

 

“You’re coming to this _fucking_  wedding,” Liz says loudly and angrily. 

 

Loudly enough that a few officers briefly take pause and glance into the office. Loudly enough that Maze stands, an already interested gaze even more curious.

 

Natalie tilts her head, a curious look on her face. Slowly and calmly, she stands up and approaches the door to her office. 

 

Here, she closes it and then turns to Liz.

 

Liz is calmer now, trying to shake off the rage of her outburst.

 

“Sorry, I -,” she begins.

 

“That seems more like a demand than a request,” Natalie says, “you know how I feel about being told what to do.”

 

“You were an integral part of Maggie and I meeting,” Liz says, slowly sitting back into her chair.

 

“A fact I’d like to not be reminded of, “Natalie says, walking back to her chair.

 

“And I know there was nothing perfect about what happened,” Liz says, “but … we were all friends at one point, right? She was your  _best_  friend at one point.”

 

Natalie shakes her head and laughs at the audacity.

 

“I was also a child at one point, Liz,” Natalie says, moving back to her seat “I was stupid and thought that Santa Claus was real. Does that make him any more real?”

 

“I know you had a rough start, but so did Maggie,” Liz says.

 

“ _Don’t_ , you don’t get to use that information against me,” Natalie says, a shaky anger in her that indicates Liz is starting to get to her; to crack that hard-candied shell.

 

“I’m just saying that it makes sense you still feel upset all things considered,” Liz says.

 

“I'm not upset. The past is the past,” Natalie says, “I grew up. I changed.”

 

“You didn’t change Nat, that’s the problem,” Liz says softly as if talking to a child. 

 

Her body sulks in the chair, indicating she feels pity for Natalie. 

 

Natalie nods as if taking that to heart as if sorting that through every experience they had ever had. She doesn’t like the way Liz is making her feel.

 

“I see,” she says, slowly parsing that information, “So, it’s my fault you left me for another woman then?”

 

“Nat,” Liz says, sighing.

 

“That you didn’t even offer me the  _courtesy_  of saying goodbye before you _fucked_  someone else?” she asks, her voice calm yet stony. 

 

Her body statuesque, but a hurt only Liz can hear lays crushed beneath it.

 

When Liz was a memory or a voice on the phone, it was easy to push it down. But here, in front of her, Liz made her feel things she had tried to  _un-feel_.

 

Like the feeling of sadness, of longing, of betrayal. It had been two years since Liz had sat her down and told her she wanted to see other people – one person in particular, but it still felt like it was a fresh wound. And how could it not be? 

 

They had spent five wonderful years together, and it all ended in the blink of an eye. 

 

Had it been her fault? 

 

Had Natalie done something to make it all go away? 

 

Or was that just the way things were? She wonders.

 

Eventually,  _everyone_ disappeared.

 

Liz shakes her head,” I didn’t come here to fight Nat. I just … I wanted us to be okay. You know, we’ve moved on, and you’ve moved on …why can’t we at least be friendly?

 

“What did you perceive would happen when you invited me?” Natalie asks, cutting to the chase, trying to clip the wings of that emotion in her threatening to take flight.

 

 “What was your expectation? That I would say yes and jump for joy? Or is this all just to rub your engagement in my face?“

 

Liz smiles and nods, “Like you said, it’s an olive branch. You know, I invite you, you feel happy for me, you come, we have a great time, we forget what we’ve ever fought about in the first place?”

 

Liz looks at Natalie, hoping any of this rings a bell. It’s very clear it doesn’t as Natalie just stares back at her, waiting until it makes sense.

 

Liz chuckles, “You never understood normal human interaction, did you.”

 

Suddenly, Liz sees the snap in Natalie’s eyes, and Nat stands up, sending her chair floating backwards on its wheels.

 

“Don’t talk to me like that!” Natalie says, angry and hurt, “I …  _hate_  it when you talk to me like that. Like I’m some sort of alien or like … some sort of  _freak_.”

 

“Sorry,” Liz says, realizing she hit a nerve, “I … I  _forgot_. I’m sorry, okay?”

 

Natalie stands there for a moment, suddenly embarrassed by her emotional outburst. But it was Liz. 

 

Liz knew how to make her …  _crazy._

 

Liz knew how to destabilize her, make her … emote, and feel.

 

She was toxic, but it was Natalie who was willing to be poisoned.

 

“Look, I truly do want you to come to the wedding,” Liz says, watching Natalie as she starts to pace, as she tries to shake off the anger in her system.

 

“And not to rub it in your face or … make you feel bad. Just … you were an important part of our lives, of Maggie’s life. Things ended badly, and I’m sorry, but … don’t blame Maggie for my mistake. You’re her only family and family sticks together.”

 

Natalie pauses and turns to Liz.

 

She shakes her head, the stony form of her face slowly cracking as tears start to well.

 

“Don’t do that. Don’t  _fucking_  do that,” she says.

 

“Nat,” Liz says softly, standing up and moving around the desk. 

 

Nat turns away and looks up to the ceiling, trying to get the tears forming in her eyes to stay in her eyes. She was angry, she was upset and she felt stupid for feeling the way she did …but now she felt an entirely different emotion.

 

“You know that Maggie doesn’t have much family,” Liz continues, “really ... any. Most of the people from St. Meredith’s have moved on. Moved to other cities, some unfortunately deceased. You’re the only one still in Los Angeles, and I don’t want her side of the aisle to be empty.”

 

Natalie still stares up, trying to keep those feelings down.

 

Liz allows her eyes to take a moment to venture down Natalie’s frame. She hadn’t changed much at all, physically, at least.

 

She places a hand on Natalie’s arm.

 

“I’m sorry, okay? I am, but … You’re all she has. You’re her only family.”

 

“Don’t do that,” Natalie says, tilting her head down.

 

 “Let’s go to dinner, Tonight? Yeah?” Liz says, rubbing her arm, “I’ll pick a nice Italian restaurant; we’ll talk about everything. I promise it will make you feel better.”

 

“I feel just fine,” Natalie says, turning her eyes upward in an attempt to dry the tears welling at the bottom of her eyes.

 

“Then, just come. Good food, great company.”

 

“Fine,” Natalie says, giving in if only to stop her from talking, “but you’re paying,”

 

Liz laughs and nods with a smile.

 

“I’ll pay, yes,” she says, “Tonight isn’t a play night, right?”

 

Natalie nods, “No, it's not,” Natalie says, turning back to Liz, the crisis of her crying in public averted.

 

“Good, let's shoot for eight? Or is that too late.”

 

“That’s fine, “Nat says.

 

Natalie nods. Liz tosses her a soft smile and heads back to her seat to gather her things.

 

“It was really good to see you again,” she says before she turns and heads to the door.

 

She opens the door.

 

“Maybe you can bring your new girlfriend? We’d love to meet her,” Liz says.

 

Immediately Natalie looks like a dear in headlights. 

 

Liz waves bye and walks away while Natalie sits there, a completely new problem in her mind.

 

A double date? 

 

Did she just agree to a double date? 

 

 _Fuck_.

 

\--

 

Down the sidewalk, on a busy Los Angeles Afternoon, Ezria walks a few steps behind a giddy Calmos who stares at everything the way a newborn child would; his eyes large with interest.

 

They walk past parked cars on the road, lying in wait by parking meters. Calmos runs his hands across the metal, unsure of what he is looking at. 

 

A man bumps into him as he walks by, and Calmos turns to watch him. His jacket has a lot of shiny metal buckles on it that jingle as he moves. Calmos looks at him, noticing his peculiar outfit. 

 

Even not knowing the customs here on earth, he feels this man’s manner of dress is odd.

 

Ezria smiles as Calmos stops and watches cars drive past, a look in his eyes as if he’s only heard of these things, never seen them.

 

This world was so much different than his own. So much more … fascinating.

 

Ezria walks past the open window of a small convenience store, and his eyes fall on a man standing in one of the aisles, a package of candy in his hand. 

 

The man looks up at the cashier, then down to the package as if debating with himself.

 

Ezria pauses and watches him for a second, gauging what is happening.

 

Slowly a black ichor starts to drain into his eyes as he stares at the man. 

He gets closer to the glass window, a strangeness pulling him from within.

 

He leans in closer to the window, ignoring an intrigued Calmos who walks ahead of him. He gets close to the window until he stands right in front of the glass. 

 

\--

 

Inside the convenience store, the man stands in the aisle, a chocolate bar in his hands. He looks up at the cashier who is reading a newspaper, then back down to the bar. 

 

It was only a little over a dollar, chump change by comparison, but … if he wanted to, he could just shove it into his pocket and not have to worry about it.

 

He didn’t need it, but the idea of it was … tempting. It filled him with adrenaline thinking of walking out of this building with his unpaid loot. Eating it, savoring it while knowing it cost him nothing. 

 

He looks back down at the candy bar, and suddenly logic fills his brain.

 

Being caught for stealing a candy bar, though? 

 

That was something a child did or a teenager. 

 

He was an adult with a job and an apartment. 

 

To him, a candy bar was nothing. 

 

He paid for at least three online video subscriptions he didn’t need. 

 

A candy bar was … childish.

 

He moves to put the candy bar back on the shelf but then pauses. He stands there, paused for a moment as a strange feeling overwhelms him.

 

Suddenly, he wants the candy bar. 

 

He  _really_  wants it. 

 

Even more, he wants to steal it. He wants to shove it into his pocket and walk out of the story like nothing happened. 

 

A moment ago he had decided against it, that it wasn’t worth it but now … it was all he could think about. It enraptured his mind, and he couldn’t think about anything else. 

 

He wanted that feeling of knowing he could do it, that he got away with it.

 

He  _had_  to have it.

 

He looks back up to the cashier, this time not weighing, but waiting – patiently – until the time was right.

 

\--

 

Outside, Ezria stares at the man inside the convenience store. He moves to put the candy bar back on the shelf then pauses. He stands there for a little longer than he should before he turns and looks back up to the cashier.

 

A smile crawls across Ezria’s face.

 

“Do it,” he says to himself, “You know you want to. It’s a little thing, what is the harm? He has so many of them, he won’t miss _one_.”

 

The man looks back at the candy bar before palming it and casually slipping it into his jacket pocket. 

 

He looks away while he slips it into his pocket as if pretending to look for something else.

 

“You got any hot pickles? I was looking but couldn’t find any,” the man says, approaching the counter with the candy bar safely in his jacket pocket.

 

The cashier shakes his head, and the man nods.

 

“Alright,” he says as he turns to head out.

 

Ezria laughs to himself, excited by what he just saw.

 

“My Lord?” a voice says, and he turns to see Calmos staring at him, his eyes furrowed.

 

“Are you okay?” he asks.

 

Ezria nods, “Fine, why?”

 

“You … you were just staring into that building strangely.”

 

Calmos turns to the store just as the door opens, and a sketchy looking man walks out. The man walks past him before pulling a candy bar out of his pocket and smiling to himself. 

 

Calmos notices, then his eyes fall as if putting two and two together. He turns to Ezria, a look in his eyes that suggests he knows what Ezria just did.

 

“Ah,” Ezria says, ignoring that look “Yes, I was just … wondering if you were hungry. I saw quite a few food items inside this store that perhaps you’d like?”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “No, I made sure to have my fill before I left,” he says, that look still on his face as if he weren’t sure what he was looking at anymore.

 

Ezria doesn’t like that look, but he brushes it off.

 

Ezria laughs, “I believe the food up here might be more palatable than what you are used to. I think you will like it.”

 

Calmos look of suspicion turns into a look of curiosity. 

 

 _Delicious?_  

 

Food wasn’t meant to be delicious. It was meant to be filling to satiate hunger.

 

“Okay?” Calmos says the confusion showing through his voice.

 

 “Whatever you desire, My Lord.”

 

Calmos approaches the door. He opens it for Ezria and holds it until Ezria walks through before he follows.

 

The man at the counter briefly looks up from the small tv he watches, then turns back to what he was watching.

 

Ezria and Calmos walk down the aisle, looking at all the candy bar wrappers and bags of various snack foods.

 

Calmos’ eyes ping pong across all the various wrappers and packages, the colors tantalizing.

 

“Wow,” he says to himself, in awe of all the wrapping.

 

“And this is all food?” he asks.

 

Ezria nods and smiles, “Yes, all edible. Some sweet, some savory, some sour.”

 

‘Sweet?” Calmos says, unfamiliar with that word, what that means. 

 

Sour, he understands. It was often considered a treat to ingest the bile of animals and beasts. 

 

The taste was rancid and made the glands in his jaw swell with saliva, but it was something new … something different than the flesh it was used too. 

 

Yes, sour he understood, but  _sweet_?

 

“Like these,” Ezria says, pointing the half of the shelf stacked with candy bars, “These are sweet. Some might be sour, but most are sweet.”

 

Calmos turns to the candy shelf. There were so many options.

 

“What about this one?” he says, picking up a bright orange package.

 

Ezria turns and looks at it.

 

“Reeses?” Ezria asks.

 

“Why, is that not a good one?” he asks, “I can choose a different one.”

 

Calmos moves to put it back, and Ezria stops him.

 

“No, I’m sure it's fine.”

 

Calmos looks at it, unsure if he wants to pick this one up or not. There are so many options, too many options, one might say. 

 

He lowers the package, it dawning on him how many options there were.

 

In hell, options were limited. It was just human flesh or the flesh of hell beasts; animals brought to hell from earth long ago that - through generations of interbreeding - were barely recognizable. 

 

Whatever it was, it was always cooked over a fire. And it was almost always charred and tasted of nothing but fire and ash.

 

Here, every package was a different color, and it was a room of rows and rows of different things. 

 

Even more, the smell of properly cooked flesh wafts into his nose from a machine of hot dogs in the back of the store.

 

Options. 

 

There were _too many_ options.

 

Calmos starts to panic, his chest rising and falling as he feels unprepared for this.

 

This world had been exciting and new, but now it was too exciting, too new. He felt out of his element. 

 

What if he chose wrong? 

 

How could he pick just one when there were so many? 

 

And were all the packages the same?

 

Or did one orange package taste different as another orange package? 

 

There was so much to experience but very little time. 

 

Time … why does he suddenly care about time? 

 

He drops the candy in his hand, and it falls to the ground. He backs up onto a rack of other candy and pulls his hand up to his chest, his breathing becoming labored. The candy falls onto the ground at his bare feet.

 

Ezria turns to him, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

“There’s too many,” Calmos says to himself.

 

Was the air here also thinner?

 

“Calmos,” Ezria says sternly, chastising him for knocking over the candy.

 

Calmos shakes his head, “I … I have to go back,” he says. 

 

This place was too unfamiliar, too different, too … frightening.

 

Ezria grabs him as the man at the cashier looks up at the commotion.

 

“Calmos,” he says firmly, “Calm yourself.”

 

“It’s too much!” Calmos says as he tosses Ezria’s hand off him and moves to run out the door. Ezria grabs him and Calmos trips and falls to the floor.

 

“Hey!” the man at the cash register says, standing up.

 

“Let go!” Calmos screams, turning around to pull Ezria’s hands from his waist. There is a wild panic in his eyes, and Ezria can tell he is deeply entrenched in flight mode.

 

Ezria holds onto his body until he has enough leverage, and he leaps forward, pulling his whole weight onto Calmos, pinning him to the floor.

 

“Hey! Take that outside!” the cashier yells, coming around the counter with a baseball bat.

 

“Calm yourself!” Ezria says as Calmos fights him. Calmos moves his arms and legs, moving into a position to where Calmos can push Ezria off him.

 

Ezria can feel him moving beneath him. He is surprised and somewhat pleased at how much stronger Calmos is than he looks.

 

“I need to go!” Calmos screams, his breathing shallow between words, “I … I need to go back!”

 

“That is an order!” Ezria says, his voice getting deeper, hoping to strike fear into Calmos’ heart. 

 

He should know by now that it doesn’t work.

 

“I said take it  _outside_ ,” the cashier says as he approaches, annoyed by the disturbance.

 

Calmos continues to shift beneath Ezria, the panic fully setting in. His pupils dilate as he gathers a strength inside him, enough to push Ezria off his body. 

 

Calmos’ pupils become larger and larger until they collapse in on themselves and are replaced by pure and bright silver.

 

Ezria looks on, staring into Calmos’s silver eyes. Ezria’s eyes widen, he needed to calm him  _now_.

 

He’s going to go full demon. He can’t go full demon, not with humans around. 

 

In an instant, Ezria’s lips are on his.

 

There’s an odd ringing in his ears, and he can hear the mumbling of the cashier screaming at them, but Calmos’ attention is only on one thing. The world stops spinning, and he slowly stops fighting Ezria. 

 

Suddenly everything is still, and his heart still beats fast in his chest, but it’s a different kind of fast. One not fueled by panic, but by something else.

 

At first, its shock, but then that shock melts into something else. Into the taste of Ezria’s lips, the warmth of his body, the weight of him on Calmos. 

 

Yes, he is calm now. Calm and confused.

 

He leans into the kiss willingly for a moment, just long enough that his breathing slows, and he finds himself getting lost in a different feeling. 

 

He opens his eyes to find Ezria’s eyes are closed, finding his own enjoyment at this moment. 

 

A kiss meant to still and calm, slowly turns in to tentative grazes, each reciprocating in a soft but cautious manner.

 

Calmos’s silver eyes pop back into standard human pupils as his brain boots back into normal mode, and he understands what Is going on.

 

Quickly Calmos pushes Ezria off him and sits up, his hand moving to his mouth.

 

He and Ezria stare at one another, their eyes both surprised at how good that felt. 

 

How …  _normal_ that felt.

 

“I don’t know what kind of weird thing is going on here but take it outside my shop.  _Now_!” the cashier says, the baseball bat in his hand. 

 

They had forgotten he was even there.

 

Calmos turns to the cashier, then to Ezria. Slowly they both stand and quietly walk outside the store. 

 

Ezria doesn’t even think about how he should be offended by a human giving him an order or threatening him harm. 

 

Calmos was not only a demon, but he was a … friend. It was easy to use demons for pleasure when he had no interest in them, Ezria thinks. 

 

But he had never kissed a demon like that. He had never had the interest to be with the same demon multiple times. 

 

Yet, as he walks beside Calmos, their silence speaking volumes, he can’t help but feel a strange electricity between them. He had found it amusing before, a game to be played. 

 

He had only been concerned about winning, about getting the demon to do as he asked. 

 

He had little concern for what the demon wanted.  

 

Yet, now all he could think about is if Calmos wanted to do it again. If he wanted to kiss as much as he did. 

 

It was silly to be attached to a single act, especially when some were eager to have other body parts of his near their lips. 

 

Still … he can’t shake that feeling.

 

 It was … odd. Odd but exciting.

 

Calmos himself, doesn’t even notice the colors and smells of all the various snacks in the store. Nor the sounds of cars driving by and birds chirping as they exit the store onto the street. 

 

It had all been new to him, and as much as he wanted to pause and take in the sights, sounds, and smells, his mind is preoccupied with the body that walks beside him. 

 

He had spent all his time in hell trying to prove to his father he was worthy. He had worked until his legs and arms were sore from carrying water. 

 

Until the spaces between his toes bled. Yes, they would call him weak and strange, but they could never call the son of Atmos lazy.

 

And even in those moments when his body had betrayed his most inner thoughts, Calmos couldn’t bring himself to connect with another demon. 

 

It was a running joke to them that he didn’t involve himself in the sweat pits. 

 

He had always claimed that work was essential, and there was no pride in their hedonism, but that was a lie, and he knew it. 

 

He didn’t seek the touch of another because It wasn’t real, the connection. 

 

Something in him desired that more than anything. He was an odd demon, and he couldn’t explain why but … that is what he desired.

 

So, no … he had never been touched, or kissed, or held in the way that Ezria had just done. 

 

Many had tried, and most of them had been sent to the void.

 

He had only meant to calm him, Calmos reasons, but behind that imperative was a curiosity and behind that curiosity was … something he had never felt before. 

 

As they walk, Calmos’s eyes slowly drift to Ezria’s feet, scared to look at anything else.

 

What if the angel was it? 

 

That thing he had been wanting, searching for, missing. 

 

He shakes his head and turns his eyes to the ground as he walks.

 

_No._

 

It couldn’t be.

 

Angels and demons weren’t meant to be so …  _familiar_  with one another.

 


	18. A Deal with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe works her case while Lucifer tries to juggle his celestial duties with LAPD duties. Calmos and Ezria continue to explore Earth. Natalie attempts to do damage control.
> 
> \--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on tumblr at hrfiction.tumblr.com for updates about when chapters are coming out. 
> 
> \--

\--

Inside a cobbler's shop, a lone man wearing a worn canvas apron sits at a counter, sanding down the sole of a shoe formed around a wooden last.

 

The bell above the shop door rings behind him.

 

"Be with you in a second," he says, wanting to finish this last layer before moving on to something else.

 

"Take your time Erimaes," Lucifer says.

 

Erimaes pauses his sanding, recognizing that voice and whips around to see Lucifer standing in the center of his cobbler shop. His eyes immediately move down to the white linen shorts Lucifer is wearing. 

 

His eyebrows furrow.

 

"I know," Lucifer says, holding his hand out before he even hears anything, "It's not a good look for me, I know."

 

Erimaes shakes his head and sets his sander down. He rubs his hands on his apron as he approaches the front counter.

 

"No, no. I was going to say it looks … rather fetching my King," he says.

 

Lucifer grimaces, "Don't lie to me, Erimaes. You know how I feel about lies," he says.

 

"Actually, I go by Earl now," he says, "and I'm not lying. You have the unique ability to make anything look good."

 

Lucifer's eyes narrow for a second before looking away. He supposes he does.

 

"Earl?" he says, making sure he has heard right.

 

Earl nods.

 

"I was going to go with Duke or Baron, but I thought Earl would track better."

 

Lucifer nods, "Right," he says, walking forward to the counter, "You remember my brother, Ezria, correct?"

 

Earl nods, "I heard he gained his freedom recently, that so?'

 

Lucifer nods, pleased. 

 

"It seems demons still talk. Word travels fast," he says, not at all shocked, "and yes."

 

Earl nods, "He's been running around with that young demon. Atmos's kid, what's his name?"

 

Lucifer tilts his head; his curiosity piqued," Running around with a demon? Perhaps he's chosen a sentinel?"

 

Earl laughs and scoffs at the same time, "Him? No, no, no. That boy is frail and thin. He's a little slow too, carried around mortal bits and bobs like he's a collector of sorts."

 

"Hmm," Lucifer says, his eyes moving down. 

 

What would Ezria be doing with …

 

Ah. Right. 

 

He supposes at the beginning of his freedom he too spent a lot of his time  _satisfying_  bodily urges.

 

Lucifer looks back at Earl.

 

"Anyway, I'm looking to install him into a more  _active_  roll in hell," Lucifer says, to put it lightly. 

 

Active was light-handed. He wanted Ezria to replace him entirely so he could stay up here, with Chloe. 

 

A small smile comes to his face thinking about it before the smile falls.

 

He looks back at Earl and remembers where he is.

 

Earl nods, "Excellent idea, my King. We could use a more active commanding officer. Not that there is anything wrong with not having one," he says, correcting himself. 

 

Careful not to upset Lucifer.

 

"Yes," Lucifer says, pleased with how this conversation is going, this might be easier than he initially thought.

 

"Anyway, I'm curious to know if you've been reaping any souls lately?"

 

Earl sighs and shakes his head, "I wish I could say I have, but it's been pretty slow around these parts. Most of the people that come through that door only want their shoes fixed."

 

Lucifer looks around for a moment, "Yes, perhaps choosing a cobbler as a front was not the best choice."

 

"Yeah," Earl says, "It did well for me so far …"

 

"Mmm, in the Victorian era, a cobbler was much needed," Lucifer says, approaching the counter, "but we're in the age of the internet. Why fix your shoes when you can buy an exact pair for a small fee from an online store?"

 

Earl sighs and shrugs, "I've been trying to work with my strengths, but ..."

 

"So, if you haven't been reaping, I suppose that's… been par for the course for other demons in this area?"

 

Earl shakes his head, "Oh. I wish I could say I wasn't an outlier but, everyone else has been doing rather well. Hans is doing alright, Larry has had a pretty good week … and Jeremy, Jeremy is doing  _really_  well. He's reaped four souls alone this week. I suppose that's the benefit of setting up your crossroads outside."

 

"Jeremy?" Lucifer asks.

 

Earl nods, "Oh yes, right. uhm … you'd know him as Jeremiah. Jeremiah of Garloah?"

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows, "Why change his name from Jeremiah to Jeremy?"

 

"He said Jeremiah sounded too angelic."

 

"Mm," Lucifer says, nodding, "Yes, I have a brother named Jeremiah.

 

"See?" Earl says.

 

"Right well … I suppose I shall go ask the other demons how their reaping is going."

 

Earl nods, and Lucifer turns to head back to the main door, "Good Luck with your ... shoes," he says.

 

"My King?" Earl asks.

 

Lucifer pauses and turns around.

 

"If you don't mind, I … my time here has been past its prime. All I know is making and fixing shoes, and, well, no one needs a cobbler anymore. Might I be more useful in Hell?"

 

Lucifer pauses and furrows his eyebrows, "Earl don't give up so easily. I thought you demons were better than that."

 

Earl shakes his head, "It's not that. Reaping is fun, it's possible the more enjoyable thing I could do here it's just … humans are strange. The food is good, the women are …tantalizing, but they have too many emotions. I don't like it. I don't like feeling different."

 

"Hmm," Lucifer says.

 

"See? Even I just used the word _feel_  that. I hate it," Earl says.

 

Lucifer nods, "I'll consider it," he says.

 

"Please do," Earl replies.

 

Lucifer nods and opens the door, the bell rings above it as he exits onto the street and walks a few steps to his waiting sports car with Amenadiel in the passenger's seat.

 

"So?" Amenadiel asks as Lucifer opens the door.

 

"Jeremiah. He goes by Jeremy now. Apparently, he's an exceptionally prolific reaper. He also happens to be the guardian at one of the doors."

 

"And he reaps with a gun?" Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer nods and sticks the key into the car, "If we have an active messenger looking to off themselves, they're going to be drawn to that door like moths to light," he says.

 

Lucifer cuts on the engine, and the car revs to light.

 

"Okay, so we need to find Jeremy and get Dan's soul back," Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer nods, "If we get to him in time. From the sounds of it, he's about ready to trade."

 

"Trade?"

 

Lucifer nods, "What do you think demons do with these souls, brother? There is much work to be done in Hell. Humans often are too occupied with their own punishment to work. So a few demons intercept them before they crossover and trade their collected souls for things they desire; blades, money, whatever they want.

 

"That's ... slavery," Amenadiel says.

 

"It's Hell, Amenadiel. You think it is built on the backs of suitable hard work and labor unions?"

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, "Luci, you allow that?"

 

"What is my alternative, brother? The way I see it's a much better option for spending eternity having your greatest shame be played for you like a broken record."

 

Lucifer's phone vibrates in his pocket, and he pulls it out. He fumbles through it for a second and smiles.

 

"Ah, excellent," he says.

 

"What? You found out where to find Jeremy?"

 

Lucifer shakes his head, "No, the caterer for my date with the Detective confirmed. He'll be delivering a delightfully proportioned plated of steak and potatoes to my penthouse this evening."

 

Amenadiel looks at him oddly. 

 

"Luci, this is a serious situation," he says.

 

"I know," he says, "I have to woo the Detective and perform for her this evening. It might be my last shot."

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, "I'm talking about Daniel."

 

"Oh," Lucifer says, sticking the phone into his pocket and putting the car in reverse.

 

"Yes, that too."

 

"So, what's the plan?" Amenadiel asks, "Are we just going to go up to this Jeremy guy and … talk the souls out of his hands? Perhaps purchase them from him?"

 

Lucifer scoffs and turns back to his phone.

 

"Brother, you and I aren't doing anything. The King of Hell approaching a crossroads demon with his angelic brother looks too suspicious. No, you're going to go and do whatever it is you do when you aren't bothering me. Or perhaps you'd like to wait for me at the hospital with Daniel? Keep an eye on him, yeah?"

 

He starts to type out something on his phone.

 

"More catering?" Amenadiel asks, annoyed that Lucifer isn't paying attention to the situation.

 

Lucifer looks at Ameandiel and shakes his head, "No, I'm texting Maze. She'll absolutely love the opportunity to speak with another crossroads demon. She hates them as much as I do."

 

Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows.

 

"if you hate them so much why don't you just … not use them?'

 

Lucifer turns to Amenadiel, a confused look on his face.

 

"Brother, sometimes we must choose between the lesser of two evils. They are grotesque and barbaric yes, but they serve a purpose. If no one were guarding those doors, it would be quite literally Hell on earth."

 

Lucifer scoffs as he pulls out his keys and starts the engine.

 

"Honestly," he says, "Your virtues are delightfully angelic but unreasonable."

 

\--

 

Chloe approaches her desk, her phone stuck to her ears, and deep into her work.

 

"Okay, thanks," she says as she hangs the phone up. 

 

She sits at her desk and shakes her mouse, bringing her computer to life. 

She begins to type her login information when Ella approaches her desk.

 

"Hey," she says.

 

Chloe turns to her briefly, "Hey," she says, turning back to her computer.

 

Chloe navigates to an arrest database and starts to type in a name.

 

"So, I got the labs back from the medical examiner about Fred's stomach contents. No full autopsy report yet, but I got a heads up it is definitely an allergic reaction."

 

Chloe nods, "That's not new information, Ella."

 

Ella nods, "No,  _but_  that in conjunction with the labs might help us narrow down what caused the reaction. Then we might be able to figure out the means of exposure."

 

"Well, so far, we only have two leads, and one of them is a mystery person," Chloe says, turning to Ella.

 

"I went to the flying Llama, and they've never heard of that bowling league, which means Fred was lying to his wife. We need to find out who that woman from the voicemail is. She could be our killer. That  _or_  his wife found out about the mystery lady and took matters into her own hands."

 

Ella shakes her head and crosses her arms, "I don't think she did it," she says.

 

Chloe nods, "Me either but, we don't have a main suspect just yet, so we can't rule her out. Have we gotten his medical records yet?"

 

"Oh!" Ella says, before turning and heading back to her lab, "One second."

 

Chloe turns back to her monitor and scrolls through the results before pulling up the image of an older white male, grey beard with a calm smile. 

 

Gregory Charles.

 

Ella comes back with a folder and hands it to Chloe. Chloe opens it as Ella speaks.

 

"I couldn't get his full medical records because of HIPAA, but I made a few backroom deals and was able to get my hands on a shortlist of known allergens and his hospital visits from the last six months."

 

Chloe looks at it then shakes her head, "Three weeks," she says, turning to Ella, "He hadn't been to the hospital in nearly a month, and it wasn't even for allergies."

 

"Yup," Ella says, "So why would he buy new epi-pens and suddenly not have them?"

 

They stand there for a moment. Chloe's head snaps up.

 

"Maybe they expired?"

 

Ella nods to herself, "I'll keep trying to get his records, maybe as far back as a year or so. If his epi-pens expired, he would have tossed them out for a new set. 

 

"If he hadn't had a reaction in over a year," Chloe says, "that means he was meticulous about reducing exposure."

 

Chloe shakes her head, "He wouldn't have  _not_  had his pens."

 

Chloe nods and turns her head to the screen, where an image of Gregory Charles stares back at her.

 

"His boss was in the apartment arguing with him, according to Regina," Chloe says, turning back to Ella.

 

"It would be feasible that he would have had access to the epi-pens at some point, right?"

 

Ella nods, "Except if he were so careful about being exposed anything that could make him react that he hadn't needed his pens in a year, he probably wouldn't have thought to look for them. Which means the pens could have been stolen at any time. As long as the box was there, he may have no reason to think the pens weren't there also."

 

Chloe nods. At the very least, that bumps their suspect list up to three. The wife, the boss, or the mystery lady. 

 

The Lieutenant would like that number,  _right_?

 

"Okay," Chloe says, standing and grabbing the folder, "Thanks, Ella. I have to go pick up Lucifer and then go interview his boss."

 

"Uh Chloe," Ella says, stopping her. 

 

Chloe stops in her tracks and turns to Ella.

 

"The list of allergens is … pretty long. It's going to take me some time to narrow down what caused the reaction."

 

Chloe nods and thinks for a moment, "Can you just test for pine nuts, mushrooms, and crawfish? Regina said he was deathly allergic to those specifically."

 

Ella nods, "That'll work."

 

"Thanks, Ella," she says as she reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone. 

 

When she turns to leave, she runs face-first into Lieutenant Edwards.

 

"Lieutenant!" Chloe says, surprised, "I … didn't see you there."

 

"How is the case going?" she asks, her interest seeming singular.

 

"Oh, uhm. It's going smoothly so far, I'm actually just about to go interview the victim's boss."

 

She nods and looks around, "Where is Mr. Morningstar?" she asks.

 

"Oh, Lucifer? He uhm … I was just about to call him to meet me at the Rocket Ship. We split up, you know … efficiency," she says before holding her phone out.

 

Natalie nods, "Keep me posted," she says as she turns and heads to her office.

 

Chloe pauses and watches her as she walks away. She turns back to Ella.

 

"That's not weird to you?" she asks, a strange look on her face.

 

Ella shakes her head, "She's had a rough day. Her ex stopped by, and she's been acting weird since."

 

Chloe turns and watches as Natalie sits at her desk and starts working. She ignores the strange feeling in her gut and turns to leave as she dial's Lucifer's number.

 

The line picks up, and Lucifer answers in her ear.

 

"Hey," she begins as she heads up the stairs.

 

\--

 

A short while later, an unmarked car pulls up to the parking lot of the Rocket Ship and shuts off.

 

Inside, Chloe is briefly going over the case with Lucifer.

 

"I stopped by the bowling alley before I picked you up, they haven't ever heard of the team, and they said Fred stopped showing up a long time ago. I tried to get an approximation of when he stopped going, but they couldn't remember. They said a year, maybe two."

 

Lucifer scoffs, "Another liar. You humans and your fibs," he says.

 

Chloe nods, "So I think he was using the bowling team as a cover for something else. We just need to find out what he was hiding."

 

"So, you think Gregory is going to have some information for us?"

 

Chloe nods then pauses.

 

"I haven't told you his name yet, how'd you-," she begins before she realizes who she is talking to and where they are.

 

"Right," she says, narrowing her eyes.

 

 She pauses for a moment, turns to the store then turns back to Lucifer.

 

"So … how often do you come here?" she asks, trying to feign disinterest in her question. 

 

Her eyes are telling a different story. She is interested,  _very_ interested.

 

He chuckles, "Darling, if I am not mistaken, you appear to be jealous."

 

Chloe rolls her eyes, "Sorry I asked," she says.

 

He laughs and looks back down at the file in his hand. His eyes lock onto the victim's name.

 

"So, we're here to interview the boss," she says, "figure out what he was doing at the victim's house on Friday and what they were arguing about."

 

"Miles," he says to himself as if trying to pull something from his memory.

 

"Miles … where have I heard that before?" he says, turning to her.

 

She shrugs and pulls the key from the ignition, "I don't know, but we've run a background check on Mr. Miles, and he's clean. A few parking tickets, but other than that, not a single run-in with the cops."

 

"Miles …" Lucifer says, turning his head out the window. 

 

It was there, on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't figure it out.

 

"Either way, we already know he was there. So, if we can get him to talk about that, maybe catch him in a lie we can bring him down the station and really grill him."

 

Lucifer turns to her and nods, his mind trying to focus on the name.

 

"So, maybe you can do your thing? You know, ask him what he  _desired_." she asks.

 

Suddenly, she has his full attention.

 

"I … I can try Detective, but remember it's a little  _unreliable_  these days."

 

She smiles, "Well … so are other  _things,"_ she says as her eyes drift down to his lap, _"_ but that doesn't mean we can't try."

 

He looks at her oddly.

 

"Let's go," she says, patting his leg and unbuckling her seatbelt.

 

"Does it bother you?" he asks, curiously.

 

"What?" she asks.

 

"Does it bother you that I can't get an erection."

 

She sits back in her chair and shakes her head, "What? No! I mean … on some level, yes, because I want you and …"

 

She thinks for a moment then looks at him.

 

"I don't know, Lucifer," she says, annoyed at having to think about that.

 

The more she thinks about her answer, the more complicated her response.

 

"Feels like what?" he asks, wanting her to finish her train of thought.

 

"Lucifer," she says, begging him not to prod further.

 

"Go on, Detective, I can handle it."

 

She sighs.

 

"I know you're going through stuff and … I can't fault you for that, but in the back of my mind, on some level, I just … I wonder, you know?"

 

She turns to him, her eyes cautious in her words.

 

"I mean, you've had sex with  _everyone_  else. Why not me?" she asks.

 

He looks at her, not sure how to answer that.

 

"I … I love you," he says. 

 

That's all he  _can_  say. He says it as if offering her something she can hold on to, as if begging her not to find fault in him.

 

She smiles and reaches out to grab his hand. She kisses his hand softly and holds it for a second.

 

"I know," she says.

 

She shakes her head, knocking that whole conversation and the way it makes her feel out of her bones.

 

"I know, okay? So, who cares … who cares what my stupid brain thinks? I know it will happen when you … when you stop  _baking_  or whatever it is you are doing."

 

He smiles genuinely, "baking?" he asks, amused by her choice of words.

 

She smiles and nods, "Sourdough."

 

"Sour?" he asks, his eyes raised almost offended, "I'm sourdough? Why not Rye, or a nice brioche?"

 

"Brioche?" Chloe guffaws, letting go of his hand, "Someone thinks highly of themselves."

 

He smiles widely.

 

"No, you're sour, and you're a constant pain in my ass," she says.

 

"Oh darling, how I would  _love_  to be."

 

She raises her lip in disgust, "No,  _not_ going to happen."

 

"Don't knock it until we try it, Detective," he says.

 

She shakes her head and opens the door to step out.

 

"Detectiveeeee," he says, his voice begging her not to run away from such an  _interesting_ conversation.

 

The door slams, and he sits there, grinning to himself.

 

He reaches for the handle right as a hot wave of heat cascades over his body. On the back of it rides intense nausea that forces him to sit back, his head against the headrest. 

 

He tries to steady his breathing, trying to stave off the desire to vomit. He pops the door open, letting a wave of fresh air hit him.

 

"Lucifer?" he hears her say from the other side of the car.

 

"Give me a minute, "he says, his eyes closed, his tone slow and deliberate. 

 

Not one syllable or breath escapes him that intentional. 

 

He breaths, managing his breathing until the heat is gone, and the nausea is replaced by slight dizziness.

 

He opens his eyes to see Chloe standing there, concern on her face.

 

Slowly he peels himself out of the passenger's seat and stands up. He takes in a deep breath, still steadying his breathing.

 

"Are you okay?" she says, shoving her keys into her pocket.

 

He nods, "Nothing I can't handle," he says with a forced smile.

 

She nods at him reluctantly and turns around.

 

"Come on, let's go," she says.

 

He smiles and slams the car door, the volume of it briefly sending him into light nausea.

 

He steps up onto the sidewalk and follows her to the front door, slowly. By the time he reaches the door, he is better. He stands taller and walks lighter, and his head no longer threatens to pull him to the ground.

 

She puts her hand on the door before pausing. She turns to him.

 

"Uhm, before we go in,' she says, her voice low in a way that catches his interest.

 

"You uhm … you do have condoms, right?"

 

He furrows his eyebrows, "Why? Are you interested in making balloon animals?"

 

Her brows drop, not at all amused by what appears to be a sincere question on his part.

 

"No," she says, "I mean … for sex. You know, when it happens."

 

He chuckles, "Detective … if you're worried about catching anything, I assure you I am clean. Again, you could eat off of me." he says.

 

He pauses for a moment when his light-hearted response doesn't lift the glare on her face.

 

"In fact, I'd  _love_  you to eat off me," he says with a grin.

 

She rolls her eyes and opens the door before entering.

 

\--

 

Inside the Rocket Ship, a patron mills about, seemingly attempting to build up the courage to check out while – at the desk – a middle-aged male with salt and pepper hair and a scruffy grey beard reads an old copy of Archie. 

 

The customer comes up to the desk, her eyes looking everywhere but at him and sets a black box on the counter.

 

"Just this," she says, her voice shaky as she fumbles with her purse.

 

The man looks down at the box and sees an image of a black silicone butt plug labeled "beginners" on it. He frowns and looks at her.

 

"You know, this is false advertising," he says in a thick English accent.

 

 It isn't proper or prim, but she can't tell the difference.

 

She turns to him, her eyes cautiously meeting his.

 

"Excuse me?"

 

"It's false advertising," he says, "It says it's for beginners, but it's actually a mid-range plug. If you're looking to start sizing, you'll need something smaller."

 

"Oh," she says, oddly surprised by how informative and casual he is about a rather … explicit topic. 

 

He grabs the box and walks around the counter before waving her to follow him. She follows, and he walks through an aisle and turns to a wall of butt plugs. 

 

He puts the box back where it is supposed to go, then reaches for a non-threatening white box with the image of a black butt plug on it.

 

"This one is probably the best to begin. Once you're comfortable with this size, then I'd recommend going for that one. Otherwise, you're not going to like it."

 

She grabs the box from him, looks it over for a second, and turns to him. She seems shocked by how helpful he is.

 

"Thanks?" she says, her tone going up at the end to indicate her confusion about the experience.

 

"You're welcome," he says with a smile as he begins to walk back to the counter. 

 

She looks at the box in her hand and the box he put back on the wall.

 

"So…," she says, causing him to stop and turn back to her.

 

She raises the box in her hand, "This one first, then the one I picked up?"

 

He nods, "Yup, and don't forget to use  _a lot_  of lube."

 

She nods and reaches for the box she originally picked up.

 

"I think I'll get both, you know … to save a trip."

 

He nods, impressed.

 

"Okay, sounds good. I'll be up at the counter when you're ready."

 

He walks back through the aisle and approaches the front desk just as the door opens, and the bell above it rings. 

 

He looks up to find a conservatively dressed blonde with a ponytail enter before a tall, dark, and oddly casual Lucifer. 

 

The blonde pauses at the door, unsure if she really wants to venture further. Lucifer, however, walks around her and breezes forward unafraid.

 

The man looks over Lucifer's linen shorts and short-sleeved shirt and looks just as confused by the sight as the previous customer was with his casual discussion of butt plugs.

 

"Lucifer?" he asks, completely shocked by what he sees.

 

Lucifer turns to him and nods, "Gregory, just the person we wanted to speak with."

 

Lucifer heads to the front counter, and Chloe follows behind him.

 

Greg walks back around to the counter to his seat, "What's with the outfit?" he asks. 

 

Lucifer approaches the counter and leans on it comfortably like he's leaned on it several times before.

 

"What? You don't like it?" he asks.

 

Greg laughs and shakes his head, "You know I don't judge. It's just … different is all."

 

The woman with the butt plugs approaches the counter, suddenly shy again with Chloe and Lucifer's presence. Lucifer and Chloe turn to her as she sets both of the boxes on the counter and tosses Chloe a coy smile.

 

"This it?" Greg asks.

 

The woman nods," Oh and, uhm, some lube?" she asks, the red blush of embarrassment on her face.

 

Greg nods and turns behind him, where there is a wall of condoms and lube hung in neat and colored rows. Chloe eyes the wall, and her gaze lands on the condoms. She coughs and nudges Lucifer. 

 

He turns to her, and she tilts her head towards the condoms. He turns to look at them and sighs before nodding at her.

 

"Any preference?" Greg asks.

 

"No," she says softly, "Just, whatever is the best."

 

He nods and pulls a box off a peg hook and shows it to her. She nods and readies her card.

 

Greg pulls out his barcode scanner and spins the boxes around to the right side before scanning them.

 

"So, what can I do for you?" he asks, to Lucifer.

 

"Gregory Charles?" Chloe asks.

 

He nods and laughs, "Depends on who's asking."

 

Chloe pulls out her badge and flashes it.

 

"I'm detective Decker from the LAPD. We have a few questions about an employee of yours."

 

Greg furrows his eyebrows and sets the pricing gun down.

 

"Who? Fred?" he asks before turning to the customer in front of him.

 

"That'll be $82.56."

 

The woman nods and hands him a credit card.

 

"Yeah, how'd you know we meant Fred?" Chloe asks.

 

"We're a small operation," Greg says, "I only have one employee. That's Fred. Well … I  _had_  one employee."

 

"Had?" Chloe says, her interest piqued.

 

Greg nods, "Yeah, he up and quit on me last week," he says.

 

Greg prints a receipt and hands it to the woman.

 

"Sign here for me," he asks. 

 

She nods and leans in to sign before sliding it back his way and grabbing the bag.

 

He hands her a copy of her receipt.

 

"Have a good day!" he says as she walks off quickly and exits the store. 

 

He sits back down in his seat and turns to Chloe.

 

"He quit? When did he quit?" Chloe asks.

 

Greg leans on the counter, "Uh ... last Tuesday, I think. Yeah, Tuesday."

 

Chloe jots that down. Greg watches her for a second.

 

"So, what did Fred do?" he asks.

 

Chloe shakes her head, "It's not so much what did. When was the last time you spoke with him?"

 

Lucifer turns to the store, then to Chloe.

 

"I'm going to look around," he says. 

 

He turns to leave, and she grabs his arm.

 

"We are here to work," she says.

 

"Detective, there are many delightful things here I think you might-"

 

She reaches out and presses her hand on his chest, stopping his words.

 

 "Don't finish that sentence," she says, her eyes wide. 

 

He can't tell if it's because they are technically on the clock, or if it's because she didn't want to talk about it in front of others. Either way, it was definitely embarrassment. He looks at her as if not understanding her shyness. 

 

Greg laughs, "I'm not here to judge," he says. 

 

She turns to Greg as he sits down.

 

"I work in a sex shop. I've sold just about everything to people who you might not expect. We've all got our thing."

 

"See?" Lucifer says, "He's here to help."

 

He turns to leave again, and Chloe stops him.

 

"We are  _working_ ," she says sternly.

 

He looks at her and sighs before turning back to the counter.

 

She turns back to Greg, "Sorry," she says.

 

He shrugs it off, smiling.

 

"When was the last time you spoke to Fred?" she asks.

 

Greg shrugs, "Uhm … Friday, I think. I went over to his place before I opened, trying to talk some sense into him."

 

"Talk some sense into him?" Chloe asks

 

He nods again, "He was thinking about moving out of state, kept saying he needed a change of environment. I understood that. He'd been talking about not feeling right since his kid died. But I told him running to a new state isn't going to solve his problems.  _Trust me_ , I know."

 

Lucifer catches this tidbit and pauses.

 

"He had a child?" Lucifer asks.

 

Greg nods, "Yeah. Real cute kid. He was just unlucky, I guess."

 

Chloe nods, "Mm," she hums in agreement.

 

Lucifer turns his gaze away.

 

"Johnathon," he says to himself, that name seemingly coming out of nowhere in his mind. 

 

It sticks to his tongue like peanut butter.

 

Greg nods in confirmation, "Yeah, Fred took it pretty hard as you might expect. That whole situation was … rough for all of us."

 

Johnathon Miles, Lucifer thinks. 

 

Johnathon Miles.

 

Johnathon-

 

Then it hits him. The man from his dreams, the one in the misty place, had a tattoo with the name Johnathon Miles on it.

 

"Either way, as much as I can understand and sympathize with his need for a new life … I wasn't happy about it," Greg says, "Obviously, I'd lose an employee and would have to go back to operating this place by myself. So I went over there to try and convince him to stay. It only ended in us exchanging less than pleasant words."

 

"How long did the argument last?" Chloe asks.

 

Greg shrugs, "I don't know. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes. With Fred gone, I had to get back here."

 

"When did he die?" Lucifer says, turning back to Greg, interrupting Chloe.

 

"What?" Greg asks.

 

"The child. When did he die?"

 

Greg shrugs, "Must have been a few years back. Maybe, 2013, 2014?"

 

Lucifer stands there silently, his eyes wide and staring into nothingness. 

 

Was it a dream?  _Or had it been real?_

 

Chloe looks at him oddly before turning back to Greg.

 

"So, Fred was alive when you left?" Chloe asks.

 

Greg looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed. 

 

"Alive? …," he says, parsing this information. 

 

Suddenly it clicks why they are here, and he slumps back in his chair. He raises his head to the ceiling, ready to state a fact he hadn't realized was a fact until now.

 

"Fred is dead," he says to himself.

 

Chloe nods, "Yes. I'm sorry you had to hear this way."

 

"Wow," he says to himself, staring off into the distance.

 

He is silent for a moment, his brain thinking a million things at once. He crosses his arms.

 

He shakes his head, " _God_ … I said some really awful stuff to him."

 

"What time did you leave his apartment?" Chloe says.

 

Greg shakes his head, his mind still wrapping his head around that fact.

 

"Uhm … I don't know. Let's see. I opened back up at nine so, probably around 8:15, 8:30-ish?"

 

Chloe nods. 

 

"And you just exchanged words? No food, maybe sitting down for a quick meal? Maybe used the bathroom?"

 

Greg shakes his head.

 

"I didn't stay long. He wasn't that interested in keeping me around for much longer, so ..."

 

"What about anyone else, did you see anyone else on your way out?"

 

Greg shakes his head again, "No. No one."

 

He stares out into nothingness, a sadness developing behind his eyes.

 

"He's really gone?" he asks Chloe, his eyes squinting in disbelief.

 

She nods grimly.

 

"Did you know he had allergies?" she asks.

 

Greg nods, "Of course. He was my only employee for a reason. He was like my best friend, has been for years now. I met him when he and his wife were still together."

 

He turns to Chloe.

 

"How is she?" he asks, "How is Regina?"

 

Chloe nods, remembering how Regina was disgusted by him, "You two don't talk," she says, stating a fact.

 

Greg shakes his head, "We used to get along, but after Johnathon died, it was … difficult, to say the least. People grieve in different ways; one of her ways was to blame me."

 

"Why? Did she think you had something to do with his death?"

 

He nods to himself in silence, his eyes plastered to the countertop.

 

"Did you?" Chloe asks.

 

Greg looks up at her, an offense behind his eyes for the suggestion.

 

"No, Oh,  _God_  no. I loved that boy like he was my own. I truly felt … horrible when we died. It was an accident. A weird freak accident."

 

"What happened?" Chloe says.

 

He shakes his head, "I … I'd like not to talk about it if you don't mind."

 

Chloe nods and looks at Lucifer. He seems to be in a world of his own.

She clears her throat and catches his attention.

 

"Did you want to ask him a few questions?" she says.

 

Lucifer nods, "oh, yes, right."

 

"Gregory," Lucifer says, turning to Greg.

 

Greg looks up at him.

 

"Tell me, why would Regina be so upset with you? What happened with Johnathon? Hmm?"

 

Greg looks at Lucifer and shakes his head, "I don't know," he says again, turning to Chloe, "I told you. People grieve in different ways. I don't blame her for blaming me. I get it. I've never lost a child myself. I can't imagine what that must be like."

 

Lucifer looks at Chloe as if disappointed it didn't work.

 

"Maybe you're not asking him right," she says.

 

"I'm not a genie," Lucifer says, annoyed. 

 

She nods her head in Greg's direction, insinuating Lucifer should try again.

 

He sighs, exhausted already by this exercise. Like he needed any more reason to feel useless.

 

"Alright, Fine."

 

He turns back to Greg.

 

"What I meant to say," he asks, leaning closer, his eyes boring a hole into Greg.

 

"What is the point? What would you gain? What are you trying to hide?"

 

Greg looks at him, an anger in his eyes at the implication he is lying.

 

"I think I've answered enough questions," he says, turning his eyes to Chloe, uninterested in furthering this interview.

 

Chloe turns to Lucier, "ask him about the fight," she says, realizing it may be an issue with phrasing.

 

Lucifer sighs and looks at Greg again, his heart not in this anymore. He didn't want to continue to beat a dead horse. It was like watching her try to breathe life into his erection and failing, though he supposes this was less, shameful.

 

"What about Fred," he says, all the conviction in his words drained, "Why did you really go to his house that evening? Hmmm?"

 

Greg looks at Chloe," I don't know what you want from me, but I've told you everything I-"

 

"Don't look at her," Lucifer says, "Look at me."

 

Greg turns his eyes back to Lucifer.

 

"What did you  _desire_?" Lucifer asks.

 

"I going to have to ask you to le-" he begins to say until his eyes latch onto something. 

 

Chloe sees it, the second when the confusion in his face falls, and he leans closer into Lucifer as if chasing something with his vision.

 

"I …" he begins to say, his eyes locked into the twisting and swirling light of Lucifer's eyes.

 

"Yes?" Lucifer says, feeling him being pulled in, a surprise in his tone at the fact that it is working. 

 

Suddenly he's interested, _very in_ terested.

 

"I …," Greg continues, his face falling flat and his eyes lost.

 

"Go on," Lucifer says, pulling him in with his words.

 

"I didn't want to move," he says.

 

Lucifer backs up, an excited chuckle in his voice, "He didn't want to move!" he says to Chloe, like a child who performed their first cartwheel.

 

"Shh," Chloe says, telling him to lower his voice as Greg blinks, trying to figure out what the hell just happened.

 

Lucifer's excitement lowers when he realizes what Greg says, "He didn't want to –"

 

He turns to Greg, "You didn't want to move?"

 

He sits back and looks at Lucifer, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

"What … I … I don't know why I said that" he says.

 

"Because you didn't want to move," Lucifer says.

 

Greg looks at Lucifer, trying to understand why he just told Lucifer that. What just happened?

 

"Were you planning on leaving with Fred?" Chloe asks, remembering the theory paisley had told her earlier.

 

Greg looks at her and lets out a large sigh. He shakes his head.

 

 "No, Fred and I were friends, but … I've made a good life here. I wouldn't just up and leave because he didn't want to go to therapy. We have the internet; we'd figure out a way to stay friends."

 

"So, then why were you worried about having to move?" he asks.

 

Greg shrugs, crossing his arms. He looks down.

 

"I …," he begins to say, "I just … it's personal."

 

"Personal enough that it turned into an argument?"

 

Greg sighs, "No, look. Fred and I, we were buddies, we told each other everything. I knew every intimate detail of his life, and I know …  _I know_ if the roles were reversed, he would be saying the exact thing. I get it, you have to cover all your bases but, I didn't kill my best friend," he says.

 

"Can you at least tell us what you were arguing about? It had to be more than just him coming back to work for you. We have witnesses who say you were arguing about something else," Chloe says.

 

Greg nods, "Yeah, we were fighting about a bunch of things. It was one of those friendship ending arguments. He wanted to leave, and I didn't want him to so … he said a lot of things to make me angry at him. I said a lot of things that, in hindsight, I wish I didn't. But that's it. We argued, I left. I figured he needed a few days to cool down, and he'd come back to work or, at the very least, he'd call… then you guys come in here asking me about it. That's the truth."

 

Chloe looks at Lucifer, as he were her personal lie detector. He looks at her, and there is a moment where they share a glance that speaks volumes.

 

He nods, and she nods.

 

Chloe sighs and turns back to Greg.

 

"Well," she says, "thank you for your candor."

 

He nods, his arms crossed still.

 

"Where did you go after that?" Chloe asks.

 

"Here," he says, "I had to open for the night shift. We stay open later on the weekends to catch the club crowds. I have security footage if you need it."

 

Chloe furrows her eyebrows, "People come here after the clubs?"

 

Lucifer smiles and nods, "Why yes, when else would you need sexual paraphernalia and mango lube?"

 

She turns to him and looks at him as if she had something less than pleasant she wanted to say about his comment, but was reserving it for when they weren't in someone else's company.

 

She turns back to Greg.

 

"Just a few more questions, do you know of anyone who might want to harm Fred? Or would have an issue with him?"

 

Greg shakes his head.

 

 "No, no one."

 

"What about another woman in his life? A girlfriend or lover?" Chloe asks.

 

Greg relaxes and shakes his head, "No, no. He was madly in love with Regina. He practically blew a gasket when she served him divorce papers a few weeks ago. Went on this long tangent about how he would never sign it."

 

Chloe pauses and tilts her head. She crossed her arms, "She served him divorce papers?"

 

Greg nods, "Yeah."

 

Chloe shakes her head, "but if he was planning on moving to a new city, why would he not sign papers?

 

 

"He wasn't planning on going alone," Greg says.

 

"Huh," Chloe says, her eyes drifting off to the side, running through everything Regina said.

 

She turns to Greg, shifting on one left, "Okay, so … one last question. Did Fred ever bowl?"

 

Greg looks at her like a deer in headlights, "Uh …"

 

Lucifer watches him try to come up with a lie.

 

"Don't lie to her, Gregory," he says, the disapproval very clear in his voice.

 

Greg raises his hand as if caught and shakes his head.

 

"Okay fine … fine." He says, "I'll tell you, but you didn't hear it from me, okay?"

 

Chloe nods, "Who would we tell?"

 

"Fred used the bowling excuse as a cover. When he met Regina, he really did bowl, but … then he met his Mistress."

 

"Mistress?" Chloe asks, "So, he  _was_  cheating on his wife?"

 

Greg shakes his head, "No, not mistress as in adultery, Mistress as in like … dominatrix."

 

"Oh," Chloe says, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

 

"Oh," Lucifer says, a salacious tone behind his words, "This case is getting more interesting by the hour, Detective."

 

"Hmm," Chloe says, an idea forming in her head, "His Mistress. Female?"

 

Fred nods, "Of course."

 

She reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone. She pulls up her email and finds the voicemail audio Ella sent her.

 

"Could this possibly be her?" she asks, setting the phone on the counter as it begins to play the voice mail.

 

"Fred," a sultry female voice says in the recording, "You know I don't like it when clients cancel on me without letting me know."

 

She cuts it off early, figuring the idea is more important than the words.

 

Greg nods, "Yeah, that could be her."

 

"What do you know about her?" Chloe asks, putting the phone back in her pocket.

 

Fred shakes his head, "Nothing. We spoke about a lot of things, but he never gave me a name. He only ever called her Mistress."

 

"What about looks? Did he say what she looked like?"

 

Greg shakes his head again, "No. I asked, you know because I was curious, but he wasn't very forthcoming with information."

 

Chloe nods.

 

"Did you know where they met? If she has a house they go to or, maybe they went to his apartment?"

 

Greg nods, an annoyance in him settling in, " _Again_ , he was a tight-lipped guy. That's what I liked about him. He knew how to keep his mouth shut. The most I know is that he frequents some club by the pier, and he only ever talks to her assistant on the phone. "

 

"This club, is it Wonderland?" she asks.

 

Greg thinks for a moment, "Yeah, maybe. Name rings a bell."

 

Chloe writes that down. That's the second time a case has mentioned wonderland. Perhaps it  _was_  time to pay it a visit.

 

Chloe nods, "Did he say a name for her assistant?"

 

Greg shakes his head again, "No, but he did offer to give me the number. I turned it down because I'm not into that kind of thing, but I did catch a glance at the phone. He was listed as E."

 

"E?" Chloe says.

 

Greg nods.

 

"Yup, just the letter E," he says.

 

"Hmm," Chloe says, writing that down.

 

Just them the bell above the door opens, and two customers come in. Greg looks up at them and nods.

 

"Let me know If I can help you find anything," he says with as much of a smile as he can muster.

 

They nod and disappear behind an aisle.

 

Greg turns back to them and sighs.

 

"Anything else?"

 

Chloe puts the notepad into her pocket and shakes her head.

 

"Thank you for your candor, If I have any more questions I'll let you know," she says.

 

Greg nods.

 

"Great, does that mean we are done here?" Lucifer asks Chloe.

 

Chloe nods.

 

"Good," he says, turning to Greg, "I'd like a box of condoms."

 

Chloe and Greg both give him the same look of surprise.

 

Greg furrows his eyebrows, "Condoms?" he says, unsure he heard what he heard.

 

Either because it's a strange segue from what he feels was an intense interrogation, or because the one thing Lucifer  _never_  asks for, he is suddenly buying.

 

Lucifer nods, "Yes, please. One that preferably doesn't feel like I'm wearing a radiation suit."

 

Greg laughs.

 

"Out of all the things I thought I'd ever see you purchase, condoms would have been on the bottom of that list," Greg says as he turns to move towards the wall.

 

"Actually, they wouldn't be on the list at all," Greg continues.

 

"I share your surprise," he says, turning to Chloe, "but I have a date tonight, and I'd like to be prepared."

 

He turns to Greg, "She seems to be the type that requires a condom," he says, "at least for now," he says winking.

 

Greg chuckles.

 

Chloe blushes and turns her back towards the counter, staring out at the couple who have made their way around to a wall of leather straps and handcuffs.

 

"What size do you need?" Greg says.

 

"Seven inches," he says.

 

Chloe closes her eyes and shakes her head, wishing he hadn't said that out loud.

 

Greg pauses.

 

"What?" Greg says.

 

"Seven inches. Though if we are being exact - and using appropriate measurements - about one hundred and eighty-five millimeters. Length of course, girth is -"

 

"Lucifer!" Chloe says, embarrassed.

 

"What?" He asks, turning to her, "Detective, Gregory is a professional. He isn't interested in my sexual proclivities, or yours, for that matter. It's all the same to him. Think of him like your local grocer, but instead of peddling grapes and cold cuts, he's selling anal beads and strawberry lube."

 

Greg laughs and grabs a box of condoms that says "Large" on it."

 

"It's true," he says, coming back to the counter "my job is about selling items, sure, but it's also about making people comfortable. No one wants to buy sexual merchandise from some creepy guy."

 

He sets the box on the counter, and Lucifer grabs it.

 

"But, for future reference," Greg says, "I didn't need a measurement. Just a small, snug, or large."

 

"Duly noted," Lucifer says, handing the box back to him.

 

Greg scans the barcode on the box and tosses it into the bag.

 

"If these don't fit right, come back, and I'll exchange them for free. Unused and undamaged, of course."

 

"I'll uh, … I'll be in the car," Chloe says, rubbing the heat off her neck as she heads towards the door. 

 

"Detective Decker," Greg says.

 

Chloe pauses and turns to him.

 

"I - I'm sorry to hear about Fred. If you see Regina, tell her I said … tell her I said I'm sorry. If she wants to talk, my number hasn't changed."

 

Chloe nods and turns to exit.

 

Greg turns to Lucifer, then to the register.

 

"That's $16.20," he says.

 

Lucifer hands a twenty-dollar bill to Greg, and Greg turns to change it out.

 

"Keep it," Lucifer says, "For the trouble."

 

Greg nods.

 

"So, who are the condoms for?" he asks.

 

Lucifer laughs, "Someone exceptional," he says pleased.

 

Greg hums in approval, "Must be. Good Luck, though it seems you never need it."

 

Lucifer smiles and grabs the box of condoms off the counter.

 

"This time I might," he says as he turns to leave.

 

\--

 

\--

 

Outside, Chloe opens the door to her car and closes it. She sits in the seat and reaches into her pocket to pull out her phone. 

 

She dials a number and puts the phone to her ear as she looks up to see Lucifer exit the shop, a black box in his hand.

 

She blushes as the phone rings and shoves it between her shoulder and cheek as she digs for her car keys.

 

She clears her throat, shrugging that feeling off. She was an adult; she didn't need to be embarrassed about condoms. 

 

The heat around her neck tells her otherwise. This wasn't just some normal guy; this was Lucifer. The thought of them being in any position to use condoms makes her heart palpitate.

 

“Hello?” a voice says on the other line.

 

“Ella, I need a favor,” Chloe says, pulling her keys out and sticking them into the ignition.

 

“Lay it on me,” Ella responds.

 

“We just spoke with Fred’s boss, and he gave us some information about our mystery lady. You got a second to do something for me?” she says as the passenger door opens, and Lucifer gets in.

 

“Detective,” he says to her as he steps into the vehicle, “is it possible to get condoms in bulk? This box only has 12, and we might go through those in two nights.”

 

He turns to her as she quickly puts a hand up to the phone as if that would stop Ella from hearing.

 

“Lucifer, I’m on the phone,” she says, her eyes wide and telling him to shut up.

 

“Oh,” he says, whispering as if that would fix it.

 

Ella laughs on the other line, “Wow. Chloe. I'm concerned. I mean I'm happy for you, it's about time but ... I'm actually pretty fearful for your vagina. Six times in one night? That's gotta chafe, right?”

 

Chloe shuts her eyes and shakes off the cringe in her spirit. She did  _not_ want to have this conversation.

 

Chloe sighs, “I need a number from Fred’s phone,” she says, ignoring her comment.

 

“Playing it cool, okay,” Ella says, Chloe can hear the smile on her face.

 

“What’s the name?”

 

Chloe looks at her notepad.

 

“Greg said he was listed under E? Like, just the letter E.”

 

“Mysterious,” Ella says, “I like it.”

 

“If you can get me his number that would be appreciated. Then I could call him and maybe set up an interview for tomorrow before I get back to the precinct.”

 

“So, we think this E guy is the killer?” she asks.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “No, he’s the assistant to the woman on the phone. Once we figure out who she is and why she left a voicemail for him … we might be able to narrow down to a main suspect. Right now, everyone is on the list. Including her.”

 

“Gotcha,” Ella says, “I’ll get the number and get back with you.”

 

“Thanks,” Chloe says.

 

“Oh and Chloe …,”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Tell Lucifer if he wants to buy in bulk he has to go online. He could get like five individual boxes, but they sell larger packs online for cheaper. Not that money is an issue to him,” she says.

 

Chloe pauses, “I … I will let him know, thanks,” she says.

 

The line clicks, and Chloe shoves the phone into her pocket before reaching forward and turning the car keys.

 

She looks at Lucifer, who is reading the condom box as if studying the recipe for his favorite dish.

 

Her eyes narrow.

 

“You  _really_  have never used those before?” she asks.

 

He laughs and turns to her, “Darling, I've never had to,” he says, “I’m-“

 

“Immortal … I know,” she says, annoyed.

 

He furrows his eyebrows, watching her body language.

 

“Do I … fluster you?”

 

She chuckles, “All the time,” she says playfully.

 

She pulls her seatbelt from her side and clicks it into position.

 

“No I mean, me. You seem embarrassed by me.”

 

She furrows her eyebrows, “What? No, I’m not embarrassed by you, why would you say that?”

 

“Well, you seemed rather embarrassed when I suggested you might like to inquire about a toy or two while we were inside,” he says, “and again when I mentioned you might require condoms.”

 

She shakes her head, “Lucifer, that has nothing to do with you. We were in the middle of an interview. You know,  _for a murder_."

 

"Yes, but the moment the interview was over, you were quite keen to make your way to the door."

 

She scoffs, "I just … I’m not as  _open_ as you are. Telling everyone how big you are or ... insinuating the things I want or like in bed. That’s not something the whole world needs to know.”

 

“Mmm,” he hums, "So you think I'm big?" 

 

Chloe looks at him, her eyes narrowed and not amused.

 

He sighs at her glance.

 

He thought it might be fun to break the Detective out of her shell. Considering their intimate engagements so far, she seemed eager to be pleased and desired. 

 

He supposes he didn’t think she might prefer to be that way only to him. 

 

What a strange contradiction. 

 

Sex was something to celebrate, to be given freely. It was possibly the one thing he enjoyed about humanity; its willingness to be molded by him.

 

To be wanted in private, but not in public, well, that made no sense.

 

The best sex  _was_  public sex, as far as he was concerned.

 

She sits back in her seat. 

 

Maybe they were sexually incompatible? 

 

“I’m a mom. I have an eight-year-old, almost nine-year-old little girl at home who is a few years away from being a young woman herself. I have to set an example for her. Even more so, I’m a cop, you know?" she says, turning to him.

 

"It's hard enough to be taken seriously as it is, but I don’t want people looking at me like some … like something to be  _had_. Like my only value lies between my legs. It’s part of why I stopped acting. I was so eager to be like my mom I took that stupid role, and the whole world looked at me like some young Hollywood harlot.”

 

She shakes her head.

 

“Then my dad died and … “ she stares out into nothingness, thinking about that.

 

Lucifer sits silently, staring forward. He was one of those who had looked at her like she was something to be had. But she knew she was more than that to him, right?

 

He replays all their interactions up until this point in his head. Had she been truly disgusted in him? Truly … uncomfortable? Or was that part of the play, the chase. Had she wanted to be chased? Did he gain access to her most intimate of spaces through persistence? Or was his persistence eroding her until she eventually settled?

 

Chloe sighs, “ I’m just not as sexual as you are,” she finally says, “I mean the last time I had sex, real sex, was with the first murderer and before that … I dont’ even  _want_  to say how long.”

 

“Years?” he asks, a timid smile as he processes the strange guilt that is developing in him.

 

She glares at him.

 

“The point is I just … I like my privacy. Do I enjoy sex? Of course, especially with someone I care about, but the whole world doesn't need to know what we do. My worth is much more than what sexual things I can do, and so is yours."

 

“I see,” he says, not sure how that makes him feel.

 

“I know that sounds like I don’t want people knowing about us but … you have a history. People know you as a sexual being. I’m not sure I want to be … associated with that,” she says.

 

“Associated,” he says, the hurt behind his word.

 

“I know that sounds bad,” she says leaning over and placing an arm on his hand, “I know. I just don’t know how else to put it. I just, I’m not doing that because I’m ashamed of us. I just, I have responsibilities that are outside of you and me, and I don’t want to mess that up.”

 

He nods reluctantly. He wants to understand; he tries hard to make himself understand. Otherwise, the other option is that he doesn’t understand, that he is offended by her _desire_  to hide him away. 

 

“The people that deserve to know will know and the people who don’t … well, they don’t need to know,” she says.

 

He turns to her, a shock in his eyes. He continues to watch her as she switches the car into drive, so many questions behind his glare.

 

“So it doesn’t bother you then?” he asks, “that I can’t perform?”

 

She looks forward, parsing his question through her mind. Squeezing his words through the colander of her emotions and seeing if anything falls out.

 

“I … I don’t know. Rationally no,” she says, looking at him momentarily before turning her eyes back to the road.

 

“But if anyone else told me they had never used a condom before, I’d run far away from them. Especially someone with as many partners as you.”

 

“To be fair, Detective, all of our interludes to date have been decidedly condom-free,” he points out.

 

She nods,” Yes, but they were also spontaneous- spur of the moment. We never really got far enough to where I would have asked, but I most certainly would have asked.”

 

Had they had gone further, before they had gone further, she would have inquired.

 

He nods to himself in silence before turning to look out the window.

 

“I’d offer to get tested, but …” he stays turning back to her quickly.

 

“It’s fine,” she says, “I … I trust you.”

 

He smiles and waves the box in his hands.

 

“Consider it a concession, yeah?”

 

She rolls her eyes, “Condoms aren’t a concession, Lucifer.”

 

“Agree to disagree, Detective,” he says, “I could argue they are unnecessary and hinder my pleasure and yours, or I could accept that they are a requirement for you to feel comfortable during our first …  _intimate experiences_.”

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

 “Yeah, I guess … I guess you’re right. That’s _one_ less thing for you to fight me on.”

 

He nods and puts the box in his lap. He thinks for a moment.

 

“Detective,” he says, turning to her as she drives, “Do you feel as though we’ve … argued more than normal lately?”

 

She laughs, “No, you’re not just _ignoring_ me half the time now.”

 

“Mmm,” he says, turning in front of him. 

 

“Besides,” she says, “it’s normal for couples to fight at first. I mean, we’re just feeling each other out.”

 

He smiles widely, and she doesn’t even have to look at him to know she made a mistake in her words.

 

“Why Darling, I’d love to  _feel_ you out sometime.”

 

She shakes her head, trying to get that smile off her face.

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment. He turns his head to look out of the window, a simple smile on his face. Suddenly the phone in his pocket vibrates, and he reaches for it. He looks at it and sees a text from Maze that says:

 

_Got your message. What do you want?_

 

He furrows his eyebrows. He doesn't have to hear her say the words to know how they sound. It was curt and disinterested - almost downright rude. If it were any other demon, he’d have punished them severely for speaking to him that way. But, It’s Maze so …

 

He types back.

 

_Feel like bringing your knives to a crossroads?_

 

He hits send and waits a moment. As expected, his phone begins to ring. Maze is on the other line.

 

“Maze,” he says, answering happily, “to what do I owe the pleasure Darling?’

 

“Knock it off,” he hears on the other line, “where and when?”

 

He chuckles, “It seems we’ve narrowed down the culprit responsible for Daniels extra douchiness. I was hoping you’d be interested in demonstrating your well-tested methods of acquiring information on him if necessary.”

 

“Again,” she says, cutting to the chase, “When and where.”

 

He looks at his watch.

 

“Corner of Hambrick and Reynolds,” he says, “Fifteen minutes?”

 

The line clicks, and he looks at it. He turns to Chloe.

 

“She’s an eager demon,” he says pleased.

 

“Do you want me to drive us there?”

 

He nods,” Thank you for saving me the time of asking, Detective.”

 

She nods, “Anything to get Dan back to normal.”

 

He nods and turns ahead of them, letting go of a deep sigh. He thinks for a moment before looking at her. He watches her for far too long, and she turns at him before turning back to the road.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

“When we arrive at the crossroads. I’m going to request you to stay in the car.”

 

“What?” she asks again, the tone different, more annoyed than inquisitive.

 

“Crossroad demons are … notorious for sharing information. More importantly, they will do anything to meet their quota or - as I suspect in this case - attain something they desire. Such is the nature of demons really,” he says, turning to stare out the window as they drive.

 

“I’d like for them not to know who you are or your importance to me. It would save me the trouble of …” 

 

He pauses. 

 

How can he explain the void? Or what he was willing to do to protect her.

 

"Oh, so now I'm your dirty little secret?" she laughs.

 

He turns to her, not at all joking. There is an intensity behind his eyes that makes her shrink. Not out of fear or shame, but out of the idea she has clearly made light of a situation in which he sees no light. He is not joking, nor does he consider this a joking matter. She nods.

 

“I get it,” she says, understanding his silence, “fine.”

 

He nods, “Thank you.”

 

\--

 

Lieutenant Natalie Edwards stands at the counter in the break room stirring a cup of coffee. 

 

She stares into nothingness, her eyes still but her mind turning like a never-ending dryer with the door open. Each spin is spitting out a new topic that makes it hard to concentrate on anything work-related.

 

Things like the health of the precinct. 

 

She had done so much work to get it back up to standard compliance, but there was still much to be done. 

 

Now an MIA consultant and an unregistered bounty hunter just fell into her lap.

 

Liz wasn’t making it any easier, either. With her upcoming wedding and the insistence that Natalie be a part of it. 

 

Was she expected to write a toast? Some speech to the new couple wishing them a happy life together? 

 

What would she say? Did she want them to have a happy life together?  _Should_  she want them to have a happy life together?

 

Liz wasn’t the best of people, sure. She was problematic in her own ways, but she was the first time Natalie truly opened up to the idea of love without concession. 

 

She never had to change who she was for Liz. 

 

Liz accepted every bit of her. 

 

But maybe that was the only surface. Perhaps relationships require change,  _require_  concession. But she didn’t know how to do that, how to change, how to … surrender.

 

Maybe it  _was_  her fault, Liz cheated, she thinks.

 

Liz had wanted marriage, and kids and …social gatherings with ugly matching sweaters and stupid traditions.

 

Marriage was a lie and children … she couldn’t fathom understanding why people burdened themselves with that responsibility. Of being in charge of something that small, something that ... fragile.

 

She sighs, stirring the coffee, her mind in a literal mind field of things she had tried to avoid feeling. She was a ticking time bomb of hurt, and confusion and vulnerability, and she couldn’t figure out how to defuse it.

 

Mistress had given her an outlet. She had given her a way to express the things she couldn’t show in her ‘normal’ life.

 

Things like power, control, nurture ... love.

 

That’s when another thought flies out of the dryer.

 

Her eyebrows furrow, and her mind switches to thoughts of Fred.

 

She shakes her head.

 

_Poor Fred._

 

Clients were that, just clients. Or at least they were supposed to be.

 

She had tried to convince herself of that, but the longer she spent with them, the more they became like family. 

 

They were her children, and she was their mother; lovingly disciplining them, giving them something they needed. 

 

It was never sexual for any of them. She made sure of that. She wasn’t there to help them get off, but the word dominatrix was thick with innuendo. It had become harder to separate the two in the mind of new clients. So she stuck mostly with the ones she knew, the ones she liked.

 

Yes, she supposes in a way they were her children.

 

So how would she handle this new feeling? The sense of losing a son? She had never lost a client this way before. 

 

Sometimes they stopped coming, and the connection faded. Sometimes they found someone else, and she accepted she couldn’t provide for them anymore.

 

But death? An abrupt halt to what she considered to be a stable and loving relationship? That was hard, but … it was an all too familiar feeling.

 

She hears a shuffle next to her as an officer walks by, closing up a file in his hand as he walks. 

 

Her eyes move to the precinct, and another idea falls out.

 

What would they say when they found out what she did? Who she was?

 

When she had to step down, and someone else had to take over her position. Would the new Lieutenant care? Would they work as hard as she did? 

 

She tilts her head.

 

Perhaps the precinct was also her family.

 

Hmm, she thinks, that idea settling in,  _family._

 

She turns her eyes back to the cup of coffee in front of her. There wasn’t enough coffee to steady her mind.

 

She sighs and tosses the stirrer into a nearby trash can before pulling the cup to her lips. 

 

It was all heavy now, but it would be clearer tomorrow. 

 

When get gets to play and let out some steam, it would be much clearer then, when she could think without the weight of Natalie on her shoulders. 

 

When she could slip into herself, what she considers to be herself, and just …  _breathe._

 

“Thanks Pete,” Ella says, as she walks by on her cell phone. 

 

It isn’t the words that catch her attention or the purposeful pace in Ella’s stride. No, it’s the box Ella has in her hand, the one labeled ‘Frederick Miles’, that gives Natalie pause. 

 

Natalie pokes her head out of the break area, and her eyes follow Ella as she approaches her lab door.

 

She quickly realizes with both her hands carrying the box, and her phone already shoved between her elbow and neck, that she has no more hands.

 

She turns around, looking for anyone to help her when she sees Natalie standing in the hall, a coffee cup in her hand, and her full attention on Ella. Ella motions to the door.

 

Natalie nods, realizing she should help, snaps forward and walks quickly to the door. She pushes it open and enters the lab, holding the door for Ella to walk through.

 

“Yeah,” Ella says into the phone.

 

 “Yeah, I’ll let her know. Thanks,” she says as she enters the lab and sets the box on the table. 

 

She turns to her phone and presses the end call button to see Natalie standing there, a curious look on her face.

 

“That was the medical examiner’s office,” Ella says. 

 

“Oh?” she asks.

 

“They’ve started the paperwork to release the body on the Miles case, but I’m going to need Chloe to sign off on the release papers before we can get him to his family.”

 

“Oh,” Natalie says, her eyes dropping and the tone of her voice sadder.

 

“She’s busy interviewing so … we might not get to it until tomorrow,” Ella says, “but that will give us time to make sure we’ve gotten all the important forensic information.”

 

Ella reaches into the box and pulls out a few bags of things she’s collected from the scene.

 

“I think I’ve gotten pretty much everything on my side,” she says, pulling out a bag of cat litter.

 

“I’m just waiting for a few labs I sent off, and then I can get my preliminary report to you.”

 

“Please, take your time,” Natalie says, her eyes moving to the box.

 

Ella looks up at Natalie with an odd smile on her face.

 

Natalie squints.

 

“Why do you seem excited by that prospect?’

 

Ella shrugs, “You don’t like it? Sifting through the debris for the truth?”

 

Natalie shrugs,” I could see the appeal, but perhaps don’t have that smile on your face when speaking to the victim’s family?”

 

Ella nods and chuckles.

 

Natalie stands there for a moment, that word playing through her head again.

 

_Family._

 

“Anyway,” Ella says, continuing to sift through the box, “We’re pretty much done with the data collection part. Chloe’s actually out with Lucifer right now doing interviews."

 

Natalie nods and watches as Ella sorts through the box.

 

“What are you working on now?” Natalie asks, a sincere curiosity in her voice.

 

“Oh,” Ella says, “Chloe wants me to look for a contact on the victim's phone. I think Chloe wants to officially log the voicemail we pulled into evidence.”

 

Natalie pauses, a singular thought in her mind.

 

“What voicemail?” Natalie asks, knowing very well what voicemail Ella is talking about. 

 

But she could hope,  _right?_

 

“Oh, you haven’t heard it, have you?” she says.

 

She reaches into the box and pulls out a small cassette tape in an evidence bag.

 

“This guy is still rolling with a cassette answering machine, can you believe it?” she says laughing. 

 

She turns and opens the bag before putting the tape into a cassette player on the table behind her.

 

“Listen to this,” she says, pressing play.

 

The tape recorder spins to life, and soon the tape is playing.

 

A familiar voice fills the room. It’s her voice, Natalie’s voice. Except its smoother, darker, more … in control.

 

“Fred,” Mistress says in the recording, “You know I don’t like it when clients cancel on me without letting me know.”

 

Natalie stands very still as if one wrong move would make Ella realize it was her.

 

“I’m going to hurt you  _so_  bad the next time I see you,” the recording continues, “I hope you’re prepared for that.“

 

The room is silent for a second before Ella reaches forward and presses rewind before popping the tape out and putting it back in the bag.

 

“Chloe thinks the woman on this tape might have some information on what happened to our guy. She spoke to his boss and found a lead, so I’m going to pull the data off his phone and see if I can match a contact with a number from his call list.”

 

Ella puts the tape back into the box before fishing around again.

 

“A number? Who’s number?” she asks, slowly walking towards the box, wanting to peer at its contents.

 

“A guy with just the letter E.“

 

Natalie nods slowly, “I see.”

 

Ella nods and pulls out a giant bag with an old house phone in it.

 

“This guy either cheap as hell or a technophobe,” she says, setting the phone on the table.

 

“I mean, who still uses house phones?”

 

She slips on her gloves and opens the bag before pulling the phone out. It still powers on, despite it being short on battery.

 

She presses a few buttons to reach the contact list and then scrolls through the contacts and goes straight to the “E” section.

 

Her eyebrows furrow when she doesn’t see any “E” in the list. She shakes her head. He has to be in here.

 

“Okay … no E,” she says confused, “Maybe … maybe he was renamed?”

 

“Maybe he was deleted,” Natalie says, trying to steer Ella to a different conclusion, “you know people delete contacts all the time.”

 

Ella shakes her head, “If he was deleted, then he would have ended the relationship, which means there wouldn’t have been a voicemail, right?”

 

“I, well … I suppose,” Natalie responds, unable to come up with anything that wouldn’t seem …  _suspicious._

 

Ella has an idea and sets the phone on the counter. She turns her back and sifts through the drawer behind her for a cable.

 

Natalie looks down at the phone, staring at it and wondering if it would be possible to pick up the phone, find Elliot’s name and delete it from the contact list without Lopez knowing.

 

She legitimately thinks about it before stopping herself. 

 

No, that would be considered destroying evidence. She couldn’t do that. That would be …  _dishonest._

 

Ella finds the cable she is looking for and turns around.

 

“So I’ll just plug this cable into my computer, run a root command on it and import the contact list. Then I can search it like an excel document and find what I’m looking for.”

 

“Smart,” Natalie says, somehow disappointed that Ella is so good at her job, “That is why we pay you so much.

 

Ella smiles and plugs the phone into her computer.

 

She types something on her keyboard, and a black window comes up. She types another few key commands, and the black window starts to flood with random type.

 

She smiles and looks up to Natalie, who stares at her like a deer in headlights.

 

“Now we wait,” she says with a smile.

 

Natalie nods.

 

“I suppose I’ll leave you to it,” she says as the computer dings.

 

“That was fast,” Ella says.

 

Natalie turns and leaves.

 

An excel document pulls up on her screen, and she scrolls through the names that pop up.

 

She leans on the counter and scrolls through the contacts, looking at every name until she finds something odd.

 

Natalie opens the door to the Lab and is halfway out the door when Ella says, “Huh.”

 

She pauses and turns to her, her curiosity too strong to just leave.

 

“M.E, “Ella says, “Why would anyone list a contact under two letters?”

 

Natalie pauses for a second.

 

“Master E,” Natalie says, nodding to herself, not even thinking about holding that information back. 

 

Fred had considered Elliot his Master and Natalie, his mistress. Mother and Father.

 

Yes, she thinks, she  _had_ lost a member of her family.

 

“Mastery?” Ella asks.

 

Natalie looks up, realizing she said that out loud.

 

“No, Master E. Like … Mistress and Master,” Natalie says, casually.

 

Ella gives her an odd look, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Just a guess,” Natalie says, “I uhm … I saw a documentary on Netflix the other day.”

 

“Oh,” Ella says nodding, “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. You do seem like a documentary person.”

 

Natalie switches from caution to offense.

 

“Pardon?” she asks, not sure how she should take that.

 

“No, I mean … you know. You seem like you enjoy information as entertainment. Oh! Have you seen that one about the guy wrongly convicted of murder?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “No,” she says curtly.

 

“It’s really good, I won’t spoil it for you but I highly-“

 

Ella’s phone dings and she reaches onto the table to pick it up. She looks at it for a moment and starts to type out something.

 

Natalie watches her, curiously.

 

“Sorry, one second,” she says, apologizing for stopping her thought short. 

 

“They sent over the paperwork for the body release. I need to write them back and say the lead investigator won’t get back to them until tomorrow.”

 

“I could do it,” Natalie volunteers.

 

Ella looks up at her oddly,” You don’t have to that’s not your –“ she begins to say.

 

“We are a team here, Lopez. I am shadowing this case after all, whatever helps make it go smoother I am ready to do.”

 

Ella smiles, and lets her hand with her phone drop to the table.

 

 “Wow, you know our last Lieutenant … “ she begins to say, thinking about Eric. 

 

Lieutenant Adams.

 

She shakes her head, getting him out of her head.

 

“That’s just great,” she says nodding,” I’m sure Chloe and Lucifer will appreciate the assistance.”

 

Natalie smiles and nods, “Well … make sure you send those documents to me,” Natalie says, turning to leave again and for real this time.

 

“You could come over, you know,” Ella says randomly.

 

Natalie pauses and turns to Ella, her eyebrow raised.

 

“I mean, you know for the documentary. It’s excellent. We could like ... watch it together or something.”

 

Natalie looks at her oddly, “I appreciate the invite, Lopez, but I’ll have to decline.”

 

“Right,” Ella says as Natalie leaves.

 

Ella shakes her head, “Nice one Ella. You scared the groundhog,” she says to herself.

 

She had to be more delicate with the Lieutenant. It was like … cobra taming.

 

She picks up her phone and presses to delete the draft before forwarding the email from the medical examiner to Natalie.

 

Then she sets her phone on the table and goes back to her computer where she highlights the number attached to the contact of Master E. 

 

She then turns to the open file on her desk and browses through it for a second.

 

It’s a list of all the numbers Fred both received and accepted – and even missed – in the week of his death.

 

She scrolls through, trying to match the numbers before she finally finds it in the list. It’s a short call, only made twice. 

 

One out, one in. 

 

Each call only lasting about thirty seconds.

 

“Gotcha,” she says before turning to the table behind her and pulling a highlighter from a cup holder. 

 

She highlights the number on the page. She caps the highlighter and grabs her own phone before dialing Chloe. 

 

The phone rings a few times before the line click, and Chloe answers.

 

“Hey,” she says.

 

“Hey,” Ella responds, “I took a look at the phone like you asked.”

 

“Yeah? Anything?” Chloe asks.

 

“Yeah, didn’t find any contact with just E, but I did find a contact M.E. Maybe, Master E?”

 

The line is silent for a second.

 

“Master E? Why would you say that?” Chloe asks.

 

She hadn’t told Ella she was looking for a dominatrix, or what they might have to go to wonderland. A guess like Master E was on the nose.

 

Ella shrugs, “I don’t know, just a guess.”

 

“That’s a  _very_ good guess,” Chloe says, surprised.

 

“Well, don’t thank me, Thank the lieutenant.”

 

“Huh,” Chloe says to herself.

 

“Anyway, I found the number twice in his call log. A call he made and a call he received. Each one short, I’m talking less than thirty seconds,” Ella says.

 

“I see,” Chloe says, “I’ll call the number when I get back, and we can go from there.”

 

“Sounds good,” Ella says.

 

“Thanks Ella,” Chloe says before hanging up.

 

Ella ends the call and slips the phone back into her pocket before reaching for Fred’s phone and sliding it back into the bag.

 

She sets the lid back on the box and turns to the open file on her desk and locks eyes with the photo of Fred.

 

“One step closer bud,” she says with a small smile as she slips off her gloves.

 

\--

 

Inside her office, Natalie Edwards enters and closes the door behind her. 

 

She quickly moves to her desk and sets the cup of coffee down before reaching into her purse for her phone, her  _red_  phone.

 

Quickly, she dials the only contact on the phone.

 

It rings and rings.

 

“Come on,” she says turning her eyes to Ella, who is now also on the phone.

 

The phone clicks, and she is greeted with a familiar voice.

 

“You are not a call I expected,” Elliot says, a pleased tone to his words.

 

“I need to lay low,” she says quickly.

 

“What?” he says, surprised, “Is everything okay?“

 

“I can’t tell you why but we need to go radio silent,”

 

“Again? Is this it?” he chuckles, “are we burning after reading?”

 

“I think so,” she says.

 

“Wow,” he says, his voice suddenly serious, “okay. Well. What are we doing about tomorrow night?”

 

“Call them back, tell them we have to reschedule. If they complain, promise to tell me they are being disobedient and they will be fine with it.”

 

“Okay,” he says reluctant, “am I going to be getting a call?”

 

“Maybe,” she says, because a yes makes it sound worst. 

 

 _Definitely_  makes it sound real.

 

“Hmmm,” he says.

 

“You know the drill, right?”

 

“Yeah, yeah, not without my lawyer, “he says,” Listen, are you ever going to tell me how you know this stuff? You have this weird sixth sense.”

 

“Shut up,” she says annoyed, “I’ll call you when it’s clear. Don’t give them my number, okay?”

 

“Like, I would ever do such a thing,” he says.

 

“Alright, I’ll call you,” she says.

 

“Good Luck,” he says before hanging up.

 

She clicks the phone off and tosses it into her bag before bringing her hand up to her forehead.

 

She had many close calls keeping her private life private. This would just be one more of those close calls she tells herself, no big deal. 

 

Yet the feeling in her gut was telling her otherwise.

 

_They were all going to find out._

 

Why did she leave that stupid voicemail?

 

\--

 

Inside a busy diner, Ezria and Calmos sit silently at a table. Calmos sits on his hands, his eyes snapping up and meeting Ezria’s every so often, just to see if he is looking. 

 

He’s not. 

 

He’s busy staring at a glass of water, his mind somewhere else.

 

Ezria stares forward, wondering about the freedom these mortals experience. He had spent so much time in a cage. So much time with his throat dry and his limbs aching. 

 

Now he was being offered a glass of water, with nothing expected in return, as if it were plentiful. 

 

And this while sitting on furniture that was made for comfort. He stretches out his legs, checking to make sure they were indeed free.

 

He scoffs. Mortals had it so easy.

 

A waitress comes by and sets a plate of food – a burger and fries specifically - in front of Calmos. She looks at Ezria.

 

“You sure you don’t want anything?” she asks.

 

Ezria looks up at her and nods, “I don’t require food.”

 

She looks at him oddly and nods before turning to Calmos.

 

“You let me know if you or your friend need anything else, okay?” she says before smiling and walking away.

 

Calmos turns to the plate in front of him. The smell wafting off it is … _divine_. He looks up to Ezria, who now watches Calmos with his full attention.

 

“Go on,” he says, nodding towards the plate.

 

Calmos pushes the plate of food towards him.

 

“You should have the first bite, my lord,” he says.

 

Ezria chuckles and shakes his head, “Angels don’t eat Calmos.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “The other angels eat,” he says.

 

Ezria’s smile falls to a frown, and he nods.

 

“It is their own shame for what they’ve done – that makes them think they can drown it in food. They eat, but they are never satiated, never … satisfied. I feel no shame as I have  _nothing_  to feel shame for. Therefore, I am not hungry. So again, I say … eat.”

 

Calmos nods and pulls the plate of food towards him.

 

Cautiously, he grabs a French fry and sniffs it before biting a piece off warily. 

 

The second it hits his taste buds, and his brain registers what he is tasting, his eyes widen and his chewing intensifies. 

 

Shortly after that, the rest of the fry is catapulted into his mouth. It is followed by another fry, then another until he is fist deep in French fries, shoveling them into his mouth in a manner than makes a few diner patrons stop and stare.

 

Ezria smiles and starts to chuckle.

 

“Oh …,” Calmos moans, a weird sexuality to his enjoyment, “This is the best –“

 

He shoves another fry into his mouth and chews. He doesn’t even finish his sentence. His eyes roll back as he chews as if he is having an out of body experience.

 

It’s salty, it’s greasy. It’s warm and both crunchy  _and_  soft. The texture is different and comforting. It’s fatty and delicious doesn’t taste like ash, or fire, or bone.

 

He keeps going until his fingers are covered in salt and grease, and every fry on his plate is gone.

 

He licks his fingers, his eyes rolling back in his head as he is hunched over the plate like a dog protecting its bowl.

 

“Oh fuck _me_ ,” he says, as if he can’t believe how good that was. 

 

_Was all food on earth this delicious?_

 

Ezria sits back, taking an odd enjoyment in watching Calmos eat.

 

“Try the meat,” Ezria says, nodding to the burger. 

 

Calmos turns to it and licks his fingers. He tries to understand what all this stuff on it is. Bread and meat he understood. But this other stuff …

 

He lifts up the bread to reveal a color he’s never seen before. 

 

Green. 

 

He’s seen the deep red of uncooked meat and the white of … what he can only imagine is a bone, but Green?”

 

“What’s this green stuff?” he asks.

 

“Just eat it,” Ezria says laughing.

 

Calmos looks at him before grabbing the burger, a pale pink sauce dripping from the bottom of it. 

 

He pulls it up to his nose, smells it for a moment, and seems unsure. He takes a large bite and gives three strong chews before he leans back in his seat, his eyes wide.

 

“Get the fuck out of here,” he says, the food pushed into his cheek. His voice indicates his annoyance by how good this food is.

 

Did all humans have it this good? _Humans?_ The weak beings that came into Hell and spent an eternity torturing themselves over the most ridiculous of things?

 

 _Fucking hellfire_.

 

Ezria chuckles. It’s a carefree chuckle, one he hasn’t let go in a while.

 

“You’ve got to try this,” Calmos says, holding the sandwich out to Ezria.

 

Ezria smiles and waves him off, “I told you, I do not require -”

 

“You said angels don’t  _need_  to eat, but you didn’t say that you couldn’t. Just taste it.”

 

Ezria looks at him, his eyes narrowed in defiance. Calmos still holds the sandwich out, chewing the bit of burger in his mouth. 

 

He sees the defiance in Ezria’s eyes, and his elbow drops to the table as he leans forward and swallows. The drop of his elbow shakes the glass of water on the table.

 

“My Lord ...,” he says sternly.

 

It sounds like an order. Ezria doesn’t like orders, but he can't help but feel drawn to do this one thing. He can’t help but recognize that tingle in his lap that suggests maybe he enjoys it.

 

He ignores it. It’s much easier to ignore it.

 

Ezria smiles.

 

“Perhaps this once,” he says, “I might find interest in seeing what is so delightful about food.”

 

He tries to frame it as if it is his decision. It’s something _he_  wants to do, not something Calmos wants him to do.

 

He is stubborn, but Calmos sees right through it.

 

Ezria leans forward and grabs Calmos’ hand. Calmos eyes move to how gentle Ezria’s touch is.

 

Ezria leans in and takes a bite out of the other end of the burger, holding Calmos’s hand steady with his own.

 

He chews a bit, before his eyes meet Calmos’s, and he nods.

 

“That is actually  _quite_  delicious,” he says, his mouth full.

 

For an angel that had no use for food, it only makes sense he also had no use for table manners.

 

“See!?” Calmos says, “Can you imagine these humans get to eat this stuff all the time, and we have to dine on charred flesh and bile?”

 

Calmos takes another bite of the burger, pissed now, but also immensely happy. This was the best thing he had ever had, and he wanted to savor it.

 

He happily chews, his eyes closed, and a slight hum is escaping his throat.

 

Ezria watches him, a smile painted permanently on his face.

 

“I wanted to speak with Lucifer about Hell, Ezria says, reaching for water to wash the taste of food out of his mouth, “but … I suppose we can spend some more time exploring if you’d like?”

 

Calmos doesn’t even hear him as he chews. Sauce drips down his hand as he holds way too tightly to the burger. Ezria exhales through his nose, a breath of amusement as a smile stays on his face; unwavering.

 

He stares and watches Calmos chew, a strange interest in it. He enjoyed seeing this demon happy.

 

\--

 

Inside the alley, Jeremy is smoking yet another cigarette and leans casually against the brick wall.

 

“Jeremiah!” he hears loudly. 

 

He turns to see Lucifer and Maze approaching him from the opening to the alley. He tilts his head, unsure of what he is looking at. 

 

Maze sure, everyone knows Mazikeen of the Lilim, but the man next to her … was this Lucifer? 

 

“Or is it Jeremy?” Lucifer asks, “You know I can never keep up with the silly human names you demons give yourself.”

 

They approach, and Jeremy pushes himself off the wall with his foot. He takes one drag of the cigarette before tossing it to the ground and smashing it with his feet.

 

“Mazikeen,” he says, nodding to Maze. He turns to Lucifer and looks him over.

 

“My … King?” he says, the tone in his voice questioning.

 

“Do you have any doubt”? Lucifer asks, his voice low and hollow.

 

Jeremy nods, “My apologies, I … hadn’t expected you to be dressed as you were. It’s … different.”

 

Lucifer hums.

 

They fall in silence for a second, and Jeremy just looks between Maze and Lucifer. They stare at him flatly, with no expression.

 

“I … I’m sorry, My King,” Jeremy says, thinking he knows what this is about.

 

“I wasn’t aware my Lord was coming through the doorway. Otherwise, I would have been prepared for him and his demon companion.”

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows.

 

“Pardon?”

 

Jeremy looks at him, confused, “Well, that is why you are here, are you not? To scold me for my unwelcoming behavior earlier?”

 

“My brother is here, on earth?” Lucifer says, clarifying what the demon is saying.

 

Jeremy nods, “Him and the young demon. They came through the doorway an hour or so ago, and I hadn’t expected them. I assure you my response was of shock and not disrespect.”

 

“Hmm,” Lucifer says before turning to Maze.

 

“Did you hear that?” Lucifer says, “My brother has decided to pay us a visit.”

 

And on all the days it had to be the one with his date with the Detective, he thinks.

 

“Isn’t he the one that likes to tempt humans?” Mazikeen says, her arms crossed.

 

Lucifer nods while looking at her. She tilts her head as if he should sit with that implication.

 

He looks at her, and she can see his brain spinning until finally, he settles on what she is trying to say.

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

“Yeah,” she says.

 

“Oh dear,” Lucifer says to Jeremy.

 

“What?” Jeremy asks, completely forgetting about his fear of being reprimanded and interested in why he shouldn’t have let Ezria through the door.

 

“I was going to attempt to finesse you a little longer, Jeremy, but it seems my problems continue to increase tenfold. So here it is, where are your souls?”

 

Jeremy furrows his eyebrows, “What?” he asks, the tone now not curious but defensive.

 

“Your souls, Jeremy. The ones you collect? Where are they?”

 

“With all due respect,” he says, a nervousness building in his voice, “Why do you ask, My King?” he wonders.

 

“Because you’ve been a very naughty boy, haven’t you?” he says, “you’ve gone and reaped the soul of a human who isn’t deceased. You know the rules.”

 

Jeremy shakes his head, “No, not possible. Jeremy Jr always finishes the job.”

 

Lucifer and Maze look at him oddly.

 

“Jeremy Jr?” Maze says, shocked but also not shocked that  _that_  is what he calls his gun.

 

Jeremy nods, “Yeah, he’s an extension of me. He does the job, and then he comes home with my rewards.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “Strange names aside, you reaped a man who is still alive, and I’m here to fix it.”

 

Jeremy shakes his head,” It’s a quick fix. I can solve it. We’ll just arrange an accident and –“

 

“Souls, Jeremy,” Lucifer says, his patience wearing thin, “Now.”

 

Jeremy looks at Maze as if pleading. He was only a few souls away from being able to go home. Lucifer can’t do this.

 

“I’m sorry, My King,” he says, already regretting the words coming out of his mouth, “But … I can’t.”

 

Lucifer looks at him, shocked to hear a no from a demon. 

 

A grin starts to peel itself onto Maze’s face, and she takes a step away from Jeremy, not interested in getting blood on her clothing. 

 

Well, not if she weren’t doing the bloodletting herself.

 

Jeremy watches Maze step back and turns to Lucifer, whose eyes have started to glow a bright blue.

 

He walks towards Jeremy; his posture and voice are eerily calm.

 

“You _dare_ tell me no?” he asks.

 

Jeremy starts to stutter as he slowly moves away. He trips over an empty cardboard box behind him.

 

He turns momentarily to see what he stumbled on and looks down the alley to see it positively littered with trash. Plastic bottles, milk crates, a giant dumpster and heaps of plastic bags and cardboard boxes. Suddenly wishes it were much cleaner. How could he illustrate strength to Lucifer if each step destabilized him?

 

He turns back to Lucifer, being more careful with his retreat.

 

 

“I-I-It’s a c-c-contract, “he says, “I can’t b-b-break a contract. You should know more than anyone that a deal is a deal.”

 

Lucifer approaches, continuing to get closer to Jeremy as he backs up, tripping over plastic containers and bags.

 

“You will hand over your souls to me,” Lucifer says, “or I’m sure Mazikeen would be delighted to test out old methods of torture. You can imagine how much she has been dying to use her knives here on earth.

 

“ _Dying_ ,” Maze says, her arms crossed and a smile on her face.

 

“I’m sure she may even find new ways of making you scream,” Lucifer says, the flame in his eyes brighter now.

 

Jeremy swallows, his throat now immensely dry. He backs up into the brick wall, unable to go any further down the alley.

 

“I’m s-s-sorry My King but … maybe we can strike a deal?” he asks.

 

Lucifer stops moving forward and looks at him. He squints his eyes.

 

“A deal?” he says, the anger in his voice giving way slightly to surprise. Surprise at the audacity to suggest anything other than an answer to his desire.  

 

“What if I… I give you whatever soul you want and in exchange you … you call my time here on earth done with? Let me go back?”

 

Lucifer looks at him for a second, reading him like a book. He was a single demon, but he was a symptom of something larger. Hell was not only becoming a punishment, but a burden. All of his problems, especially the ones with the Detective, stemmed back to Hell.

 

 

Still, he hadn’t worked all this time to create a somewhat livable world to then be told no by one of its inhabitants. If one demon thinks he could make a deal with the devil, what do the rest of them think?

 

He was King. His word was the end all be all, or at least it should be. To think that he could come to come sort of … agreement, some sort of compromise was preposterous.

 

Compromises were for equals, for peers. This demon was not Lucifer’s peer.

 

He was decidedly _not_ his equal.

 

Maze starts to frown, taking Lucifer’s silence for something else.

 

“Lucifer,” she says.

 

He turns to her.

 

“Can I speak with you?” she asks.

 

He turns back to Jeremy and looks him over, a peculiar energy bubbling in his veins, before turning and walking back to Maze.

 

Jeremy airs himself out, trying to drain the anxiety from his bones.

 

Lucifer approaches her, and she leans in and speaks low.

 

“You can’t accept his deal,” she says.

 

“I am not,” Lucifer says.

 

 Did Maze to think he was weak enough to do such a thing?

 

“Bargaining with a crossroads demon is asking for trouble,” he continues, “and I will not concede to a simple crossroad demon demand.”

 

His voice starts to boom, the anger behind his words traveling to Jeremy’s ears.

 

Maze nods, this is the kind of thing she wanted to hear.

 

“Word gets out you traded a soul for a ticket back home you’re going to have a lot more empty people on your hands,” she says, the only one in this conversation that seems to care that she speaks low.

 

Lucifer nods, “I know.”

 

“Well, I just want to make sure. It looked like you were considering his deal for a moment,” Maze says.

 

Lucifer looks at her, his eyes drifting and his voice lowering.

 

“I’m was not. I’m … quite frankly I’m considering if his disobedience has anything to do with my absence from hell,” he says.

 

“Possibly, or he’s maybe he’s just a dumbass who thinks he can make a deal with the Devil,” Maze says.

 

“I find myself at a crossroads, Mazikeen. Literally and figuratively. Part of me wants to drag him into one of our warehouses and have you slice him until the end of time. Show him that Hell is not a democracy.”

 

“I could do that,” she says pleased.

 

“The other part wants … the other part seems pleased at his disobedience. At the idea that I’ve seemed to have left that status behind.”

 

“You’re still the _fucking_ devil,” she says, “you _don’t_ make deals with demons. Especially not crossroad demons.”

 

Lucifer nods, a conflict growing in his heart. He didn’t like that Jeremy was disobedient, that he felt he could bargain with the devil.

 

But, the other part of him saw it as an out. As a chance to start over, be something new …something better for Chloe.

 

“This is Dan’s soul,” Maze says, reminding him of the stakes.

 

 

He looks up at her, an understanding in his eyes. Whoever his hesitance was, now was not the time for it. Not when there was much on the line.

 

He nods and turns back to Jeremy, who now stands there, attempting to not look bothered despite being clearly bothered.

 

He watches him for a moment, toying with the two sides of him. The angel and the devil on his shoulder; himself.

 

He had tried to hard to escape his responsibilities in hell, to be something other than their king, and now that he is faced with the prospect – and the disrespect that comes with it – he finds it quite unappealing.

 

When it was just for his own desires it was easy to go back and forth. To turn it on and off, but now he wanted to do this for Chloe. To leave his devil face behind, and his wings and anything that was a reminder he was imperfect; unworthy.

 

But without the devil, Daniel would rot away and he couldn’t stomach to think how that would affect the detective and her spawn. The idea itself elicits a low, uneasy grumble from his stomach.

 

He hums to himself – a grim acceptance of what he must do - and nods. A truce between his two selves is formed momentarily. He needed the devil, he supposes, at least for now.

 

Lucifer walks back up to Jeremy and pauses. He stands there and stares at him for a moment, the sheer height of his form and the shadow it casts making Jeremy unsteady.

 

Jeremy stands straight, trying to affect a sense of strength and courage but ends up looking more like a son trying to stand up to his father for the first time.

 

Lucifer runs his fingers through his hair, already feeling the heat rising in his veins, the monster coming out to play.

 

“I will be kind and not have you dragged to the deepest pits of hell and tortured for all eternity for your disobedience. Your gall to suggest we are equal enough to bargain,” he begins, his words calm and collected, but behind them a threat Jeremy has no doubt he will act on.

 

“So I  want you to think very _clearly_ about your choice of words,” Lucifer says.

 

Jeremy nods before nervously swallowing.

 

“Souls,’ Lucifer asks again, the words not challenging or demanding in any way.

 

Even with the calmness of his tone, it is clear he is extending to Jeremy an ultimatum.

 

He wants Jeremy’s souls, only them, and it is not a conversation or a debate. There is no room left for interpretation, only compliance.

 

Jeremy shakes his head, “My King, I-“

 

Before Jeremy can even utter the last words of his sentence, Lucifer has crossed the few feet between them and has his hand wrapped tightly around Jeremy’s neck.

 

His eyes burn a bright blue fire, the heat of which begins to singe off the eyebrows on Jeremy's face.

 

“I am not _asking_ you,” he says, his voice deep and guttural. 

 

Jeremy watches as a line of fire begins to crawl itself over Lucifer’s face.

 

His eyes widen, and he starts to panic as Lucifer’s devil face burns itself to life.

 

Jeremy’s façade starts to slip as pure terror enters his bones and his whole face sinks into itself, revealing tendons and bone wrapped around two silver eyes.

 

Jeremy watches as a line of fire begins to crawl itself over Lucifer’s face.

 

His eyes widen, and he starts to panic as Lucifer’s devil face burns itself to life.

 

“Okay! Okay!” he says, “I’ll tell you!”

 

“Where?” Lucifer says, his words now demanding and urgent.

 

 His patience had run out for the demon and he was making it well known.

 

Suddenly, on the wall, a single brick starts to glow a red light. Lucifer and Maze turn to it. The glow turns bright before slowly fading.

 

“Well,” Lucifer says, “It seems Jeremy Jr. is much more forthcoming than his father.”

 

Maze approaches the brick and reaches for a knife on her side. She jams the knife into the side of the brick before shimmying it out.

 

Inside, lays a gun, a tube filled with a blue mist and two tin containers. 

 

Maze reaches in and grabs the tube before pulling it out. She looks at it for a moment, watching the mist roll inside the tube like a lava lamp. 

 

It is slow, and glittery, and despite the tube only being mist, it is heavy. It has a weight to it that makes it feel much more substantial.

 

“Where are the rest of them?” Lucifer asks.

 

Jeremy sighs, giving up and speaks defeatedly, “Inside the box on the right,” he says, the tendons filling in with fat and muscle until his demon face disappears and gives way to pink flesh.

 

Maze turns back into the hole and sets the tub into her pocket. Her leather pants are tight, and the pockets are small, but she manages to fit it inside.

 

She then reaches into the cavity and drags the tin box out. It’s heavy, real heavy. 

 

Like a cinderblock.

 

She sets it on the ground before taking the cover off. There, inside, are five tubes filled with a blue mist.

 

Maze looks up and nods.

 

Lucifer turns to Jeremy and drops him, removing his hand from Jeremy’s neck.

 

“Looks like someone has been busy,” he says, going to straighten his jacket before realizing he’s wearing a linen shirt.

 

He sighs, “How am I supposed to be bloody intimidating when I look like I’m constantly on a Caribbean cruise,” he says.

 

Jeremy leans over, pressing his hand to his neck as he catches his breath.

 

“You’re very intimidating, My king,” he says.

 

 “I don’t need you to _patronize_ me,” he says, still not pleased with Jeremy.

 

Lucifer walks over to Maze and peeks over into the hole. He reaches in and grabs the gun before flipping open the chamber to find zero bullets inside. He turns to Jeremy.

 

“I’m going to take Jeremy Jr,” he says, “If you want to finish your reaping, you’ll need to be more hands-on, yeah? Your laziness can only get your so far.”

 

He sticks the gun inside his pocket and heads down the alley.

 

Maze stands, holding the tin box in her hand and looks at Jeremy with little pity.

 

“Never try to make a deal with the devil,” she says, as if repeating an old adage he should have remembered.

 

She turns and leaves as Jeremy stands and rubs a bruise developing across his neck. He doesn’t look happy at all.

 

“Those aren’t going to work!” he says, annoyed, looking for anything to make him feel powerful again.

 

Lucifer and Maze pause and look back at him.

 

“The souls. Like I said, a contract is a contract. It’s binding. Even if you found the soul you are looking for, the tubes are scarred with a demonic lock.”

 

Lucifer laughs, “I’m the devil. There is no lock that can keep me out.”

 

“Only a key master can open them, and don’t even get me started on what you need to do to get a soul back into a mortal.”

 

Lucifer starts to take Jeremy’s words to heart, discontent growing on his face.

 

“There’s no point,” Jeremy says, raising his hands, “What is done is done. You have my souls, and that sucks for me but … it won’t change what has happened.”

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes.

 

“Just … give me back my souls, and I can handle it. I can fix this,” Jeremy begs.

 

Lucifer looks at him, not saying anything. If he knew any better, he would think that this crossroads demon thinks he could sway the devil.

 

“You know,” Lucifer says, “Perhaps taking souls isn’t punishment enough for you. Maybe I’ll have you moved somewhere less … prolific? Perhaps Papua New Guinea?”

 

Jeremy shakes his head, “No, no please.”

 

“That a good enough _deal_ for you?” he asks before turning and leaving the alley.

 

Maze laughs loudly as she follows him.

 

\--

 

By her car, Chloe leans up against the passenger door and is busy sending emails on her phone when Lucifer and Maze exit the alley. 

 

She looks up to see a blue-eyed Lucifer with his hands in his pocket, walking quickly ahead of Maze. He is seething andstares down at the ground as if blocking out any stimulation.

 

Behind him, Maze happily walks with a tin box in her hands. It looks light, but the way she is holding it makes it seem like it weighs a ton.

 

She turns off her phone and sticks it in her pocket as she leans off the car.

 

“Everything okay?” she asks, noticing how distant he is.

 

He grunts, acknowledging that he heard her. He passes her and pulls the handle on her car to open the door before getting in and shutting it behind him.

 

She looks at him oddly before Maze approaches.

 

“What is that all about?” she asks.

 

“You can’t just unleash the beast and put it back in its cage so quickly,” Maze says smiling, “you got to run it around for a bit. Get some of that energy out.”

 

She shakes her head, not sure what that means before looking down at the box.

 

“What is that?” she asks.

 

“Souls,” Maze says, “one of them is bound to be your ex-husband's.”

 

She walks past her and nods to the trunk.

 

“Do you mind?” she asks.

 

She fiddles with her keys before pressing a button on her fob that pops the trunk. It raises up, and Maze sets the tin in the back of her car.

 

It lands with a thump, visibly shaking the car. She reaches up and closes the trunk before walking back to the sidewalk.

 

“I’m out,” she says, “I just came for the possible torture.”

 

Maze starts to walk away when Chloe stops her.

 

“Wait!” she says, “Is there some sort of … a precaution I need to take while driving?”

 

Maze furrows her eyes.

 

“They’re souls, Decker. Not eggs. Do what you want. Short of witchcraft, you’re not going to be able to open them yourself.”

 

Maze turns and begins to walk away. Chloe clears her throat and tries not to think about the fact that she has a box full of souls in her car.

 

She turns and looks back to see Lucifer sitting still in the passenger's seat. 

 

She walks around the side of the car and opens the door before getting in.

 

Inside the car, Lucifer sits there, staring forward.

 

She looks at him, unsure of what to say before reaching over and grabbing her seatbelt.

 

“Uhm, put your seatbelt on?” she asks.

 

He complies and reaches over to click his seatbelt before staring back out into nothing.

 

She puts the key in the ignition and then brushes her hair aside and changing her positioning in the seat.

 

“You okay?” she asks.

 

“No, I’m decidedly not,” he says, turning to her in an instant, his eyes a deep blue.

 

“What makes them think they can _defy_ me? That they can tell me no to my face? I’m the  _devil,_  detective. No demon would have ever formed their lips to deny me in Hell. What makes him think that he has any leverage over me? He tried to make me swoon over his putrid deal like I’m some sort of mortal? Like I’m a human wanting money or fame or gold.”

 

“Okay,” she says, having not expected him to actually tell her what’s wrong. Usually he broods for a bit and then she has to pry it out of him later.

 

 “Maybe he ju-“ she begins, trying to help.

 

A heat wave rolls up his body, sending more flame to his eyes.

 

“I’m the  _fucking_  devil!” he screams.

 

“I know,” she says, raising her hand trying to impart that she is on his side.

 

“I am the king!” he yells, his breath is heavy, angry.

 

He emits a sound, it's guttural and bubbles, and sounds oddly like a purr.

 

"I decide. I. decide," he says.

 

"You decide," she says, nodding, adrenaline rising in her system as she starts to become fearful.

 

She tries to push that down, Lucifer would never hurt her, but … this was a new type of anger. She didn’t know how this anger worked.

 

He pauses, the anger in his eyes subsiding and being replaced by something else. 

 

Confusion. 

 

Discomfort.

 

That heatwave of anger has turned into heady nausea. It destabilizes him and threatens him with a sneaky bile that leaks into his mouth.

 

“I am…,” he says.

 

“Lucifer?” she says, noticing how his anger has changed into confusion, almost panic.

 

“I- “ he says again.

 

“Lucifer, what’s-”

 

He snaps the door open and quickly turns his head right as a flood of vomit flies out of his mouth. 

 

Well, if it could be considered vomit. He hadn’t eaten anything worthwhile in days, and what comes up is dark and sticky, like liquid licorice and overcooked spinach.

 

“Oh, shit,” she says as she undoes her seatbelt and leans over her seat to push him further away from her car to make sure he clears her vehicle.

 

He places his hand on the door, the other on the car frame as he gags and gasps for air between each convulsion.

 

There shouldn’t be that much coming out of him, but there is. It keeps coming like an endless torrent of dark and sticky gunk.

 

He horks an ungodly sound as it hits the pavement. She rubs his back, patting it gently.

 

He has a moment of reprieve, his eyes watering.

 

He gathers spit from his mouth and spits onto the pavement.

 

He blinks, clearing the tears from his eyes. 

 

“You alright?” Chloe says, rubbing his back.

 

He convulses again, launching another wave of the substance.

 

She continues rubbing his back.

 

He gathers spit from his mouth and spits again. 

 

Again he has a moment of reprieve, but he holds his position, his body curled and craned over the pile of gunk on the ground.

 

He sits here until the nausea disappears and he's left feeling ... much better.

 

He leans back in his seat, his body now back in the car. He reaches down and uses the collar of his shirt to wipe his eyes.

 

"You alright?" she asks concerned. She reaches forward into the glove box and pulls out a tissue.

 

She hands it to him and he wipes his mouth.

 

"Much better," he says, "I actually feel much better."

 

He turns and glances down at the pile of tacky goop just vomited out. He tilts his head, recognizing what he is looking at.

 

On the ground below the car door lays a giant mass of swirling dark goop. It glitters like decorated with a million tiny stars.

 

“I …Oh dear,” he says.

 

“What?” Chloe asks.

 

He turns to her and looks in the backseat of her car.

 

“You wouldn’t happen to have one of those evidence bags?” he asks.

 

“Uh,” she says, “Maybe in the trunk?”

 

She presses a button to pop the trunk before she climbs out of the car. Inside the trunk, next to the tin box containing souls, is an umbrella, a jacket, a yoga pad, and a pelican case. 

 

She pops open the pelican case and finds a random pile of items from Ella’s lab. She sorts through it and gets an evidence bag.

 

Lucifer maneuvers himself out of the passenger side and steps onto the sidewalk. He clears his throat, still tasting the black goop on his tongue. He gathers his spit again and spits off to the side.

 

Chloe approaches him and hands him a bag before looking at the black mass on the ground.

 

She furrows her eyebrows.

 

“What is that stuff?” she asks.

 

Lucifer clears his throat again, trying to get that taste out his mouth.

 

“Soul tar,” he says as he approaches and leans down.

 

“That … that does not sound good,” she says.

 

He nods, “You’re beautiful  _and_  astute, Detective,” he says with a smile.

 

It doesn’t ease the concern in her eyes.

 

He kneels down and reaches out with the bag over his hand.

 

“Wait,” Chloe says going back to the trunk.

 

He leans back, removing his hand as he does what he is told; he waits. He turns his head back to the goo on the ground as she shuffles in the trunk.

 

 _Soul tar_ , he thinks. 

 

This isn’t good.

 

She comes back with a giant syringe. It’s large and thick.

 

She hands it to Lucifer, and he looks at it, shocked she has it in her car.

 

“Ella likes to leave some items in my car just in case we need it,” she says. 

 

“She’s convinced that if we get into an accident, she might need to do some on-site forensics.”

 

Lucifer nods, “Well done, Lopez,” he says.

 

He hands her back the bag and takes the top off the needle to the syringe. He pulls the needle out, allowing there to be just a hole. 

 

Then he leans down and sticks the syringe into the goop before pulling up as much of it as possible without also pulling up any bits of debris from the ground.

 

“What are you going to do with it?” she asks.

 

He stands up and drops the syringe into the bag in her hands before taking the bag before sealing it.

 

“Well, it just so happens that we will need some soul tar when giving poor old Daniel his soul back,” he says.

 

He waves the baggy in his hand, “Consider it fortune that we got a fresh sample.”

 

Lucifer chuckles, “From an angel no less. How lucky for him.”

 

Lucifer moves to sit back in the car, being sure to avoid the mess he made and shuts the door.

 

Chloe stands there, not sure Lucifer should be so calm, though she prefers this to his rage.

 

She walks around the back of the car and shuts the trunk before heading to the passenger side. 

 

She gets back into the car as Lucifer tucks the syringe into the glove box.

 

She sits back against the seat, a whole host of questions roaming around in her head.

 

“I … should,” she begins.

 

He turns to her, “Should we just … leave it here?” she asks.

 

Lucifer nods, “The moment it isn't near my body, it will evaporate,” he says.

 

“Okay,” she says, “so should I ask what that stuff is? Is that bad?”

 

Lucifer nods, “Oh, it's bad. It’s  _very_ bad,” he says, “I’m just unsure as to what to do about it. So, I’m choosing to take one thing at a time.”

 

Chloe nods, “Okay …”

 

“So, I’ll call up Amenadiel. We’ll head on over to Daniel, and then we’ll have our dinner, right?”

 

Chloe nods, still unsure, “Okay … Yeah.”

 

“Great,” Lucifer says, reaching for his phone, “I’ll text him now.”

 

She puts on her seatbelt and turns the key. The engine roars to life.

 

 

\--

 

In the alleyway, Jeremy stands against the building, peeking around the corner. He watches as Lucifer, the king of Hell, lets go a torrent of vomit onto the side of the road. 

 

His stares forward with a confused expression.

 

Vomit was for sick mortals. Lucifer was immortal and thus didn’t get sick. So … why was he vomiting?

 

The woman in the car with him is rubbing his back, a look of concern in her eyes as she attempts to comfort him.

 

Jeremy tilts his head. She didn’t look demonic to him.

 

He watches them as they gather a bit of the vomit, then get in the car and drive away. 

 

He ducks his body back in the alley as they pass it, for fear they might see him. 

 

He watches them drive down the street and turn before he exits the alley and approaches the spot where they just were.

 

He looks around the ground, trying to figure out what Lucifer had collected, but nothing is there. 

 

\--

 


	19. Genesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amenadiel and Lucifer look about getting Dan's soul back. Maze attempts to find out Natalie's secret, Chloe and Lucifer have their date and a literal blast from the past finds itself in the center of Los Angeles.

**\--**

 

Inside Dan’s Hospital Room, Amenadiel sits in the chair by the window speaking to an excited Dan.

 

“So, I told her I don’t have use of my legs, but I can still feel my dick,” Dan says, laughing.

 

Amenadiel narrows his eyes and nods, “And you thought that was an excellent response to her giving you a sponge bath?”

 

“Yeah,” Dan says, nodding, “she asked, what am I supposed to do. Lie?”

 

Amenadiel nods, “So, have you thought about when you might go back to work?” he says, changing the subject.

 

“Work?” Dan says as if insulted, “No. No, I don’t plan on working ever again. I spent too many of my days sitting behind a desk trying to fix other people’s shitty lives. Or the result of it at least. You know how many times I thought to myself, ‘You know if this guy didn’t die I would have offed him myself.’”

 

 

Amenadiel looks at him as if he can’t believe what Dan is saying.

 

“Too many times,” Dan says, chuckling.

 

He notices that Amenadiel doesn’t find it funny.

 

“What?” he asks, “People are the absolute worst. Every one of them is shitty, and I’m not going to waste a single second of my life any more on them. I’ve been given a new shot! I feel…”

 

Dan turns his head away, trying to sort out the words.

 

Feel. He didn’t really feel much of anything, but logically he was free.

 

No job, no wife, and sure he had a kid, but … Chloe had Trixie taken care of.

 

“Free,” he finally lands on, “ _God_ , I feel free… for the first time in maybe ever. Like … there’s a weight that’s off my shoulder, you know? I’m only sitting here cause my legs don’t work but the second they do … I’m going to soar.”

 

“Like an angel?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Dan laughs, “Angels? Angels aren’t real. I died, man. I didn’t see the face of God. No white light flashed in front of my eyes. No, there is nothing on the other side, and I’m going to make sure I get all my drinking and fucking and … just everything out now.”

 

Amenadiel sighs.

 

Souls are as heavy as the guilt they produce. It makes sense for Daniel to be this elated, but that didn’t make it right.

 

The room door opens behind them, and Lucifer enters carrying a metal box. He moves across the room and sets it down in the chair next to Amenadiel.

 

“Oh, it’s _this_ fucking guy. Tell me,” Dan says, turning to Amenadiel, “How are you two brothers? You’re cool, and he’s …”

 

Dan turns back to Lucifer, trying to find the words. He narrows his eyes as he stares.

 

There was something off about him, and he couldn’t remember what it was. He felt like it was right there on the tip of his tongue. Whatever it was, his presence alone made his bones chill, and his hair stands on edge. This guy was bad news. Bad, bad news.

 

“Don’t sound too excited to see me, Daniel,” Lucifer says as he turns to Daniel before turning back and peeling the lid off the tin.

 

“I’m not,” he replies.

 

“How is he? Is the door still open?” Lucifer asks.

 

Amenadiel nods, “I don’t know for how long, but if we can get his soul back in him, I can seal the door, and he should be back to normal.”

 

Amenadiel looks down into the tin box to see the swirling tubes of light blue mist.

 

Amenadiel’s eyes widen, and he cautiously reaches out and touches one of the tubes. He’s delicate, like he is petting a baby duck.

 

He caresses a vial like it is a long lost loved one. Lucifer watches the way he touches then and pauses.

 

“Should I leave you two alone?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel turns to him.

 

“Where did you get these?” he asks.

 

Lucifer looks at him as if he shouldn’t ask stupid questions.

 

“I mean,” Amenadiel says, correcting his inquiry upon realizing how dumb it sounded, “are you certain Daniel is in this box?”

 

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Lucifer says, “That’s what you’re here for. Do your … thing,” he says, waving to the souls in the box.

 

Amenadiel nods and stands as Lucifer moves out of the way.

 

Dan watches every one of Lucifer’s movements, a look of suspicion in his eyes. Lucifer turns to him, giving him a suspicious look right back.

 

“What is it, really?” Dan asks, “man to man. What’s your deal?”

 

Lucifer smiles and places his hands into his shorts pocket, “I’m the Devil,” he says.

 

“Luci!” Amenadiel says, turning around.

 

“Oh, what’s the use?” Lucifer asks, “we’re about to _shove_ his soul back into his body, I think the man can handle the truth at this point.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “Having his soul isn’t enough,” Amenadiel says, reaching out and grabbing one of the tubes.

 

“Oh,” Lucifer says, “That reminds me.”

 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the bag with the syringe. The dark, sticky substance swirls inside like it were alive.

 

“I got some soul tar for you, figured we might need it.”

 

Amenadiel turns and sees the syringe full of the black stuff, and his eyes widen.

 

“Where did you get that?” he asks, “That’s … at least a dozen people.

 

“Or one angel,” he says.

 

Amenadiel’s face drops, and he looks at Lucifer gravely.

 

“Please don’t tell me that’s yours,” he says.

 

“Well, some of it at least. The rest has probably dissipated by now.”

 

“Luci, that’s not good. You’re sick. We need to consult-”

 

“Yes, I am _aware_ , but can we finish this bit and then deal with my issue?”

 

Amenadiel tilts his head, “You want to forgo your own personal problems to take care of Dan?”

 

Lucifer nods.

 

Amenadiel sighs and turns back to the tube in his hand, “Oh, Father, this is bad.”

 

“It’s going to take a lot more than a syringe worth to make me panic,” Lucifer says, turning to Dan, who is looking at both of them like they are crazy.

 

Amenadiel stops what he is doing and turns to Lucifer. He looks at him for a moment before approaching and laying a hand on his chest. Lucifer pauses and looks at him, the look behind his eyes are is that of slight confusion and slight offense.

 

Amenadiel stills himself, peering as far deep into Lucifer as he could go. It was difficult to see the soul of angels. It was locked deep behind layers and layers of chains and locks and voided areas where life should be. But he was leaking soul tar, the dark matter that held everything together; the pedestal on which his existence balanced.

 

There, he finds the first door in a series of doors open. Not broken, or torn down, but open. As if someone or something opened it willingly. Behind it sits another door. This one is locked and covered in the remnants of the black substance that had sat on top of it, like crème inside a layered cake.

 

Amenadiel looks, steadying himself, peering past the door onto the other doors behind it, ones that are still locked and sealed. There he finds the most important door, the one that holds behind it everything that makes Lucifer, Lucifer. Everything that made Samael, Samael.

 

He is pleased to still find it also intact and locked.

 

He opens his eyes to find lucifer staring at him displeased.

 

“If you are done looking into my soul, I believe we have someone who _actually_ needs assistance,” Lucifer says.

 

“One of your doors is open,” Amenadiel says, turning back to the vials of blue mist on the chair, “We need to talk to-“

 

“I don’t need assistance,” Lucifer says, upset.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head before steadying himself to look into the vial in his hand. If Lucifer wouldn’t do it, he would. As soon as Daniel was sorted, he would have to have a talk with Father.

 

Would Father know he was having doubts? Would he know he was unsure about the nature of Father’s plan? Of course, he would. He’s God.

 

Lucifer turns back to Dan to see Dan staring at him.

 

“So, it’s not just me you’re an asshole too, it’s everyone,” Dan says as if pleased it weren’t just him.

 

“I am simply trying to speed this affair along, “Lucifer says, “You’d be interested in this happening faster if you had any interest outside of yourself.”

 

Dan scoffs and shakes his head. He’s had it with Lucifer.

 

“I hate you,” he says to Lucifer.

 

Lucifer takes a moment as if that came out of nowhere.

 

“Well, you’re about to hate me even more in a minute,” he says.

 

“Amenadiel,” Lucifer says, turning to Amenadiel, his tone impatient.

 

“Give me a minute,” Amenadiel replies, setting a vial down, outside of the box. This wasn’t Dan.

 

Amenadiel cautiously takes another and closes his eyes, steadying his spirit. He stands there for a moment before opening his eyes and setting the vial aside.

 

That wasn’t Dan, either.

 

Lucifer groans and looks at his watch. He didn’t have time to dilly dally. He still needed to gather some items for his date with the Detective and find something more … formal to wear.

 

He briefly wonders if they sell linen suits.

 

He scoffs at the audacity of it and also of knowing that has to be a real thing. He sighs and sees Dan still staring at him.

 

“So,” Lucifer says to Dan, “Tell me what unfortunate things you’ve been putting your nurses through. Hmm? Demanding with your food items, perhaps?”

 

Dan scoffs, “I’m not telling you shit. You think you can come in with your perfect hair and your perfect body-”

 

“ _Oh_ ,” Lucifer says, pleased to hear that.

 

“- and make me say stuff to you? I’m not Chloe, okay? I see right through you.”

 

“You think I have a perfect body?” Lucifer says, getting stuck on one part of that whole sentence.

 

Dan narrows his eyes, “It’s all a joke to you, isn’t it?

 

Lucifer places his hand at the end of the bed. He leans forward, deep intrigue behind his eyes.

 

“Truly, tell me, Daniel. Why do you hate me so?” he asks, a sincere curiosity in his tone.

 

“Because you’re an asshole. An overconfident, stuck-up, rich asshole, and I don’t trust you.”

 

Lucifer nods, “Ah, I guess there’s something to be said for having no soul. At least I get the truth out of you.”

 

“And the second I find out your secret, I’m going to make sure Chloe knows because she deserves much better than you.”

 

Lucifer nods, “Ah,” he says sadly, “Finally something we _agree_ on.”

 

“Got it,” Amenadiel says, holding up a tube in his hands.

 

“Excellent,” Lucifer says, “Let’s begin then, shall we? I have to meet the caterer at the airport.”

 

Amenadiel nods and turns his eyes to the tube. It has faint markings on it.

 

“Problem,” he says.

 

Lucifer looks at him, and Amenadiel holds the tube up. The markings are faint, but they are visible.

 

“It’s locked,” he continues.

 

Lucifer nods and leans off the bed before approaching Amenadiel.

 

Lucifer grabs the tube from Amenadiel and takes a look at the markings. He raises it to the light pouring in from the window and turns it at several different angles.

 

“What are we going to do?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer looks at him, an annoyance starting to set into his bones.

 

“Would you be curious to know a marked difference between you and me?” he asks.

 

“No, but I gather you’re going to tell me anyway,” Amenadiel says, his arms crossing.

 

“You see difficulty as an obstacle while I see it as a challenge.”

 

He smiles widely, “You know how I feel about challenges.”

 

Lucifer lowers the tube, and he turns to Daniel.

 

“Hold him down,” Lucifer says.

 

 

\--

 

It’s 6:30pm, and the precinct is starting to wind down. Night beat cops have already started clocking in, and the detectives – the ones without active cases - have gone home. A few detectives sit at their desks drinking coffee and combing through papers, while still others are packing up and heading out for the night.

 

Ella is one of those people. She had done most of what she wanted today and could either start a new case and do a blood spatter report, or she could go home and make blood spatters of her own with her game console.

 

She is packing away her tools and cleaning her desk when Maze comes strutting into her lab.

 

“Hey, we still down for tonight?” Maze asks, leaning on the table.

 

“Yeah,” Ella says, turning to her briefly, “I’m just putting some stuff away.”

 

“I want to try that new gun I got. The one with the semi-automatic spray pattern? Oh! And I heard there was a shovel skin DLC I kind of want to get.”

 

Ella looks at her as if concerned, “You sure are spending a lot of money on this game,” she says.

 

Maze shrugs, “Lucifer has a bunch of the stuff.”

 

Ella nods, “Fair point.”

 

She turns and continues packing away plastic wrappers of syringes.

 

Maze looks over to the Lieutenant's office to see it empty. She nods towards it.

 

“Where’s your demon boss?” she asks.

 

Ella laughs.

 

“For the last time, she’s not a demon, and I don’t know.”

 

“Isn’t she usually the last one to leave?”

 

Ella nods, “Yeah, but … she said she had an “engagement” to go to so …”

 

Ella pauses, “I sure hope it’s not with her ex. That’s gotta suck, right? Being involved in an ex’s wedding?”

 

“Hmm,” Maze says, her eyes squinting.

 

She wanted to find out about this engagement. If she wanted to figure out how to destroy her enemy, she needed to figure out what made her enemy tick. She narrows her eyes. She supposes it’s kind of fun. It reminds her of bounty hunting, except she’s hunting a prize way more interesting than money.

 

She wants to break the Lieutenant or, at the very least, prove her point. They’ve had two bad Lieutenants in a row, a demon Lieutenant seems like child’s play at this point.

 

“I’ll be ready in a bit,” Ella says.

 

“Don’t bother,” Maze says, standing up and heading to the door, “Something came up.”

 

Ella turns and is about to say something, but Maze is already out the door.

 

“O … kay?” she says, confused about what just happened.

 

She sighs and turns back to her tools. She pauses, briefly thinking she should just unpack them and start a new case.

 

No, she tells herself, she had promised this night would be a night of rest and _damn it_ she’s going to stick with it.

 

She goes back to packing items in her drawer.

 

\--

 

Inside the Hospital, a nurse sits outside Dan’s room as people and other nurses mill on by. On the outside of the room, everything seems calm and collected. However, the atmosphere inside of Dan’s room is much different.

 

Inside Dan’s room, Amenadiel leans forward, his whole-body weight on Daniel as he holds him down and covers Dan’s mouth with his hand.

 

Dan struggles to break free, but despite him having use of his hands now, he is nowhere near the strength to fight off an angel.

 

“Any day now, Luci,” Amenadiel says, turning to Lucifer, who looks at the tube in his hands, trying to decide what to do.

 

“Just … just give me a second,” he says.

 

Dan’s teeth find purchase on one of Amenadiel’s fingers and bites down hard. Amenadiel moves his hand away, not prepared to fight against the pain.

 

“Get off me - ” Dan yells.

 

Amenadiel covers his mouth again.

 

“ – you freak!” he finishes mumbling into Amenadiel’s hand.

 

Outside, one of the nurses looks up from her station, having heard Daniel yell out. Her eyes narrow in suspicion.

 

Back inside the room, Amenadiel is losing patience.

 

“Lucifer!” he says.

 

“One second!” Lucifer snaps at Amenadiel, “I can’t think when you’re yelling at me like that.”

 

“Maybe you should have figured that out before you told me to hold him down,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer stares at the etching on the glass of the tube, and suddenly he has an idea.

 

“Okay, Okay,” he says, “I think if I heat this vessel, I can recast the etching, maybe.”

 

“I don’t need an explanation, just action,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “You and me both,” he says.

 

He shoves the tube into his left pocket and grabs the syringe full of the black substance off of the seat nearby.

 

Then he approaches Dan’s bed and climbs on top, straddling him. He makes sure Dan’s hands are tucked beneath him then nods to Amenadiel.

 

Amenadiel gets up, and immediately Lucifer sits down on Daniel, pinning him to the bed.

 

The first thing he notices is the bulge beneath him, Daniel’s man-bits as it were. He tilts his head, a strange curiosity in his words.

 

“I never thought we’d be in this position,” Lucifer says to Dan as Amenadiel continues to hold a hand over his mouth, “If the Detective and I weren’t monogamous, I dare say my curiosity would get the best of me.”

 

Daniel looks at him, his eyebrows furrowed as if even he is disgusted by Lucifer’s advance.

 

“Well,” Lucifer says, “No time like the present, I suppose.”

 

Lucifer takes the syringe and squirts a bit of the black substance into his mouth. He visibly cringes at how disgusting it is before setting the syringe on the bed.

 

Amenadiel watches him, “What are you doing?” he asks, him and Dan sharing the same facial expression.

 

One of disgust, curiosity, and horror.

 

Lucifer gags on it, but it stays in his mouth.

 

Behind them, the handle to the door jiggles, and Amenadiel and Lucifer turn to look at it.

 

“Whatever you’re doing, do it now,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer grabs the tube in his pocket and holds it steady in front of him. He stares at the markings on the tube, his eyes starting to burn red in his skull. Dan stops squirming momentarily, his eyes wide with shock.

 

“What the fuck?” he mumbles beneath Amenadiel’s hand.

 

The tube starts to warm up, and the inscriptions start to release a white smoke. It heats up in his hand, getting hotter and hotter until it starts to burn his skin. Still, his eyes continue to burn brighter and brighter until they snap into a fiery blue.

 

Dan starts to struggle again, suddenly filled with the sense that he should run; he should flee.

 

He screams bloody murder beneath Amenadiel’s hand, and whoever is on the other side of the door begins to bang.

 

“Hold on, we’re getting the key!” the nurse says on the other side.

 

Dan’s eyes turn to the door, he screams louder.

 

“Help!” he cries beneath Amenadiel’s hand.

 

“Luci!” Amenadiel says, begging Lucifer to hurry up.

 

Daniel begins to buck beneath him, but Lucifer stays steady like he was riding a mechanical bull. His eyes concentrated on the tube, at the inscriptions that start to glow a hot white.  The mist inside the tube is swirling faster now, almost excited about leaving.

 

He continues to stare, the tube burning against his flesh.

 

“Lucifer!” Amenadiel says, hearing the distinct sound of a row of keys on the other side of the door.

 

Suddenly, the tip of the tube snaps and unlocks. The difference in temperature between the outside and inside too much. The glass breaks cleanly as if it were sliced at the top.

 

Both Amenadiel and Lucifer looks shocked that his plan worked.

 

The mist starts to seep out the glass vial, and Lucifer panics, having not thought this far into his plan.

 

Quickly, Lucifer grabs the top of the glass, tosses it aside, then quickly shoves the tube into his mouth as the light blue mist starts to escape.

 

The tube starts to drain into his mouth.

 

Dan and Amenadiel, again, watches in horror.

 

“Luci, what are you doing?” Amenadiel asks, horrified.

 

When the tube is empty, Lucifer tosses it to the side. It lands on the floor and doesn’t break, just rolls under the bed.

 

Lucifer reaches out and snaps his hand to Daniel’s jaw, forcing him to open his mouth.

 

Amenadiel gets what is happening and moves his hand, cringing already at what comes next.

 

 Daniel’s eyes widen as he realizes at the same time what is about to happen, and he screams.

 

“Noo-“ he starts before Lucifer’s mouth is immediately on his.

 

They are locked tightly in a kiss, and Dan can feel the tacky tar plopping into his mouth. It swirls almost of its own accord as Lucifer’s mouth locks on to Dan’s, forming a seal.

 

Lucifer’s eyes open, and he stares forward, willing Dan to look. Dan’s eyes are wide with a panic that falls into a hypnotic stare until his eyes roll up into his head and pop back down to reveal a white emptiness.

 

The concoction inside his mouth starts to melt, like coconut oil to skin, until his mouth is empty and a strange coldness runs up his spine.

 

Slowly the white emptiness in his eyes fills with a pale blue as Lucifer moves his tongue, getting every ounce of the black substance and the blue mist from between his teeth.

 

Lucifer stays there as Dan stops struggling and is almost in a trance.

 

“It’s working!” Amenadiel says, surprised and excited at the same time.

 

He raises his hands to his head as if relieved and astonished. He hadn’t realized how much the responsibility of Daniel’s soul rested on him.

 

Lucifer closes his eyes, his mouth moving on Dan’s. To anyone else, it would seem like a kiss, the deep kind. The kind that marks the beginning of a lust-filled romp. But to Lucifer, it’s the kind of kiss that has power behind it, the kind of kiss that fills the soul.

 

Lucifer lays on Dan for a moment, just long enough that he feels safe letting go.

 

He first let’s go of Dan’s jaw, allowing it to close naturally before sitting up and physically closing Dan’s mouth, just in case something wants to escape.

 

Dan lays there, his eyes facing forward. They are pale blue but then fade slowly into brown.

 

There, an awareness of what is happening and what _has_ happened sits inside Dan’s eyes.

 

It’s heavy and weighty as a world of knowledge and pain and … regret rolls into his body like high tide to a beach.

 

Dan slowly lowers his vision to Lucifer then turns to view Amenadiel.

 

“Did it work?” Amenadiel asks Lucifer.

 

Lucifer sits back, the weight of his body pressed into Dan’s lap.

 

Dan blinks as if clearing a haze from his eyes before he turns to Amenadiel.

 

He turns and looks down at Lucifer, who still straddles him.

 

 

“I believe so,” Lucifer says, recognizing something real and human about the way Dan is looking at him.

 

He slides off the bed before reaching down and grabbing the empty tube on the floor.

 

Dan doesn’t say anything, he just slowly sits up – a strange heaviness in his body.

 

“Daniel?” Lucifer asks, sticking the tube in his pockets, “What do you feel?”

 

The door finally unlocks, and a nurse comes rushing in to find Daniel sitting up in a seemingly empty room. She turns her eyes to the wall near the door and sees Lucifer standing there, a stunned look on his face as they make eye contact.

 

She looks him up and down then turns to Daniel.

 

“Is everything okay?” she asks, a suspicious eye cast in Lucifer’s direction.

 

Dan crosses his arms around his body, holding himself. He is cold, much colder than he remembers being.

 

He doesn’t respond. He just looks off to the side as his mind fills will all the events that have happened to him and how it makes him … feel.

 

“He’s just a little …tongue-tied at the moment,” Lucifer says, finally speaking up.

 

“I heard him screaming,” she said, turning to look into the open door of the bathroom.

 

“Yes, he had a little outburst, but ... I’ve talked him down.”

 

She narrows her eyes at him, then her eyes drift down his body until they land on his shorts.

 

She blushes a bit then turns away.

 

“I know, it’s a horrible outfit,” he says,” But unfortunately for me, it seems my wardrobe is rather limited these days.”

 

She nods, trying not to look before she turns.

 

“If you need me, I’ll be … I’ll be outside,” she says.

 

He can see it in her eyes. She’s thinking about it.

 

He tilts his head. That doesn’t make him feel the same way it used to. In fact, it makes him rather anxious.

 

He nods awkwardly and turns back to Dan as she leaves.

 

“Why weren’t you hiding?” Amenadiel asks.

 

“I thought I was,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel opens his mouth to say something when they both pause as Daniel lets go of a not-so-silent cry.

 

Amenadiel and Lucifer turn to him.

 

They watch him for a moment as he wipes his eyes, trying to stem the tide only to find it just keeps coming.

 

“Why am I crying?” he asks a sincere confusion.

 

“I imagine suddenly having a soul after a period of being soulless does … terrible things to you. Least of all, it makes you feel things,” Lucifer says.

 

Dan turns to Lucifer, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. He looks at Lucifer, a deep recognition in his eyes. He sniffs.

 

“You’re the devil,” he says.

 

It’s part question part statement, the way one asks for clarification of something they already know.

 

Lucifer tilts his head, “And it makes you remember things apparently.”

 

Dan turns to Amenadiel, tears still in his eyes.

 

“And … and you’re an Angel?” he asks, confirming.

 

Amenadiel crosses his arms and nods.

 

“And … what am I?” he asks.

 

“Other than remarkably average in size,” Lucifer says, “you’re human. You’re Daniel Espinosa. Excellent Father. _Decent_ Detective and …”

 

Lucifer pauses, trying to sort through his own feelings.

 

“I suppose, in some sense - and despite hating me - my friend,” he says.

 

Daniel looks at him. There is a moment there, where they share a real – and unfortunately fleeting – connection.

 

It’s the kind of connection Dan needs right now.

 

“And a douche, of course,” Lucifer finishes.

 

Dan scoffs, a smile on his face, as he hides that vulnerability behind a mask of dissatisfaction.

 

“You couldn’t have just had one nice moment?” Amenadiel says, shaking his head.

 

“Well, I complimented his penis size, didn’t I? Remarkably average, that’s got to be good for something.”

 

“ _God,_ you’re an asshole,” he says, wiping the tears from his eyes.

 

“Yes, he is. Again, I find myself agreeing with you more and more,” Lucifer retorts.

 

They sit there in silence for a moment before Lucifer nods.

 

“Very well, good luck with your recovery Daniel. I look forward to our usually unpleasant banter at the station.”

 

Lucifer turns and grabs the box of souls.

 

“I’ll stay here and seal the door,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer nods.

 

Daniel’s smile falls. He pulls the covers over his shoulders. He was cold, and despite having his soul back, he felt emptier than he should. Like, he finally peeled back the curtain on what life had to offer, but it only left him more afraid.

 

“Charlotte,” he says to himself softly, as if just remembering her name.

 

Or at least remembering how it made him feel.

 

They pause and turn to him, his eyes low and sad.

 

“I used to have Chloe,” Dan says, “Then I had Charlotte, and now Charlotte is gone too.”

 

Dan looks up at them, a deep sadness in his eyes, the water beginning to well again.

 

“Now, I have no one,” he says.

 

Amenadiel and Lucifer look at one another.

 

“You have the young one, Beatrice,” Lucifer says.

 

A small smile comes to his face, and he nods. His smile falls as he remembers all the stuff he said he would do, or rather that he did do.

 

He could have lost it all.

 

How could he have been so _stupid_?

 

His mind starts to flood itself all at once with guilt, and he shuts his eyes tight, trying to block it out.

 

Amenadiel and Lucifer look at each other again. Amenadiel nods his head, telling Lucifer he should do something. Lucifer sighs and reluctantly walks towards the chair by the window.

 

Here he sets the tin box on the seat next to him and casually sits.

 

Lucifer looks at the time on his watch then looks back at Dan.

 

“and … I suppose,” he says slowly, “for the next forty-five minutes at least, you also have me.”

 

Dan shakes his head, “I … I don’t want to hold you up. You said you had to get to some caterer. I just … I want to be alone.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “Nobody wants to be alone, Daniel. Don’t be silly.”

 

“Lucifer,” Dan begins to protest as he turns to Lucifer.

 

“I have wings, or have you already forgotten the bit about me being the Devil? I _swear_ you and the Detective are incredibly dense sometimes.”

 

Dan squints his eyes.

 

“So, Chloe knows?”

 

Lucifer nods, “Of course.”

 

He nods to himself and faces forward.

 

Lucifer looks at his watch again.

 

“Forty-four minutes, Daniel. I’m no Dr. Martin, but I believe you should start opening up.”

 

Dan shakes his head, “Lucifer, I don’t want to talk to you.”

 

Lucifer nods, “and I don’t _want_ you to talk to me, but let’s face it … we’ve shared a kiss, I got you your soul back. Quite frankly, I’d feel _terrible_ if something happened to you while I was out preparing for this evening. Could you imagine? Me, trying to woo the Detective with Daniel Espinoza on my mind?”

 

Dan looks at him and tilts his head, a curiosity in his eyes.

 

He smiles.

 

“You like me,” Dan says.

 

Lucifer looks at him, “I beg your pardon?”

 

“You would worry about me if something happened,” Dan says.

 

“Forty-Three minutes,” Lucifer says, without even looking at his watch.

 

“It hasn’t even been a minute yet!” Dan says.

 

“Hasn’t it? It’s certainly felt like forever,” Lucifer says.

 

Dan lets go a chuckle and lays back in his bed a smile on his face. Lucifer smiles and crosses his leg, bouncing it on his knees in impatience.

 

Dan sighs and looks at the ceiling, the smile in his face falling. He turns to Lucifer.

 

“Well, go on,” Lucifer says, annoyed.

 

Daniel shakes his head, weeks of sadness, hitting him all at once.

 

“It’s just … heavy,” he says.

 

“It will dissipate after a few hours. Your body is just getting used to having a soul again.”

 

Dan shakes his head, “No, it’s … it’s everything. My marriage failed, I’m a shitty cop, I just lost what might have been my last shot at love and … “

 

He shakes his head, tears coming to his eyes again.

 

“I almost threw away my daughter,” he says, looking up at Lucifer, “I know what it is like to grow up without a Dad, and it was rough. I felt abandoned and … unloved and ..”

 

Lucifer stops bouncing his legs, he tilts his head as he looks at Daniel as if something was resonating deep in his mind.

 

“Alone?” he asks.

 

“I said I’d never do that to her,” Dan says, “When I held her tiny little body in my hands that first time I thought … I would love her more than anyone would ever love her.”

 

There is a thick silence there. Amenadiel and Lucifer look at one another, both not knowing how to handle this.

 

“How can I face her knowing what I did?” he asks sadly.

 

Amenadiel steps forward, and Dan looks up at him.

 

“If you’d like I could … remove that memory from you,” Amenadiel offers.

 

Dan shakes his head.

 

“Thanks, but … no … no more memory removals or souls or anything I just … I’m ashamed.”

 

Lucifer nods, “You’ll be back to being a douche in no time,” Lucifer says, “You’re just getting a rush of feelings because of the whole not having a soul for a week thing.”

 

Dan nods.

 

Lucifer looks back at his watch.

 

“Forty minutes,” he says.

 

Amenadiel stares at him as if suggesting he were impolite.

 

“What?” he asks, “I have to be at the airport in an hour.”

 

“What are you even going to the airport for?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer nods, “Where else am I going to get authentic Kobe beef?”

 

Dan scoffs, “Must be nice to have all the money in the world. To just buy Kobe beef because you can.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “I understand I can be a bit frivolous in my spending, but this particular purchase is important. The Detective and I have a date tonight, and I’d like it to be … special.”

 

Dan squints his eyes, “You _really_ have feelings for her?”

 

Lucifer nods, “Yes, of course.”

 

“Not just wanting to have sex with her, like _real_ feelings?”

 

“Yes,” Lucifer says with conviction.

 

Dan turns his head as if he didn’t expect that, “Huh,” he says.

 

“This evening marks our first attempt at … the more romantic endeavors since our relationship became official. As you can imagine, between saving the city and tracking down your soul, it’s been rather hectic. We haven’t had much time for … personal pleasures.”

 

Amenadiel turns and enters the bathroom. Moments later the sound of a running faucet fills the room.

 

“She told me you haven’t had sex yet,” Dan says, nodding.

 

Lucifer’s eyes raise.

 

“She did, did she?” he asks.

 

Dan nods, “It was a whole fight.”

 

He pauses, remembering all the things they fought about while he was here.

 

He shakes his head, “I said some really awful things,” he says.

 

Lucifer nods and stands up, “Yes, well, I made the Detective aware of your particular issue, so I doubt she will hold you to that.”

 

Amenadiel exits the bathroom with a small pink bucket. He moves and sets it on the side table next to Dan. Dan looks at it confused then turns back to Lucifer.

 

Dan shakes his head, “What if that’s who I really am? What if deep down I’m that person?  Should I be concerned about that?”

 

Lucifer smiles, “If you have to ask yourself that, don’t you already have the answer?”

 

Dan pauses and nods. He supposes that made sense. It did make him feel slightly better, but only slightly.

 

“Souls have the uncanny ability to make us questions everything. That guilt, that conscious drives you humans into your own personal hells but … it also produces some wonderful things. Like love and loyalty and friendship.”

 

Dan nods, his mind going off into someplace else.

 

Lucifer stands, and Dan’s eyes snap to him.

 

“You’re going? Don’t I still have thirty-nine minutes?” he asks.

 

Lucifer turns to him and notices the look in his eyes. He recognizes that neediness, he was there only a few hours prior.

 

Amenadiel walks towards Lucifer and picks up the box next to him.

 

“I really have to go get these someplace safe,” Amenadiel says, nodding to the tin box in his hands,  “You’ll have to close the door. I’ve already blessed the water for you.”

 

 

Lucifer nods.

 

Amenadiel turns to head towards the door. He pauses and turns to Daniel.

 

 

“I truly am sorry for all I’ve done,” he says, “but I am glad to see you are okay.”

 

Daniel tosses him a small smile and nods.

 

“Thanks,” he says.

 

Amenadiel turns back to Lucifer, “I’ll wait for you at the bar,” he says before exiting.

 

Lucifer sighs and sits back in his chair. He crosses his legs again and links his fingers in his lap.

 

Lucifer sits there, staring at Daniel for what seems like forever.

 

“Alright, out with it. I’m not going to stay here to sit in silence with you,” he says.

 

Dan sighs again and shakes his head. Was he really going to open up to Lucifer? Of all people …or … of all, not-people?

 

He looks at Lucifer.

 

What was his other option?

 

Might as well.

 

“Also,” Lucifer says uncrossing his legs and standing up.

 

He walks around the bed to the bucket and peers in.

 

“If you think that kiss was h _orrible_ , you’re going to _hate_ what I have to do next.”

 

 

\--

 

At a restaurant that seems too highbrow for the tight leather pants and white open-backed blouse she is wearing, Maze sits at an empty booth. On the other side of her, behind a dividing wall with planters on top, sits her points of interest: Liz and her Fiancé Maggie.

 

She wants to know everything she can about these two before her target, Lieutenant Natalie Edwards, gets there. If she can figure out how Liz affects her, perhaps she can use it to get what she wants.

 

The Lieutenant _had_ to be a demon. Maze scoffs at the idea of a human having the guts to tell her what to do. Well, humans other than Trixie.

 

Yes, she had to be a demon, and Maze was going to prove it by all means.

 

Next to Liz, it is clear Maggie is less prim and less interested in her appearance. Her hair is short and cut clear on one side. She wears a loose button-up with well-fitted slacks – not to tight, not too loose – and a reasonable pair of shoes.

 

By all intents and purposes, they look absolutely boring together. Yet the way they look at each other, it is clear they are madly in love. Rather, the way Maggie is looking at Liz, one would think she was absolutely smitten.

 

“I called the florist to confirm the flower arrangements,” Maggie says.

 

“White Lilly’s and baby breathe, right?” she asks.

 

Maggie nods, “For the bouquet yes, the bridesmaids will have-“

 

A waiter comes up to Maze’s table, and she looks at him, annoyed at his distraction from the conversation going on next to her.

 

“Did you need any more time?” he asks.

 

She turns and looks at the empty basket of bread on the table. She grabs it and shoves it towards him.

 

“Yeah,” she says, “get me more free breadsticks.”

 

The waiter sighs and turns to head back to the kitchen.

 

“Did you call the tailor for your suit?” Liz asks.

 

Maggie chuckles, “Babe, My suit looks fine. No one is even going to notice the length when I’m wearing the heels.”

 

Liz sighs, “I’m just trying to make our special day perfect,” she says, the tone in her voice passive-aggressive, “If you don’t want to look perfect that’s fine, but I think your legs are going to drag on the ground and your suit is going to get dirty. That won’t make a good wedding photo.”

 

Maggie sighs, “Fine,” she says, giving in, “I’ll get the suit tailored.”

 

“Thank you,” she says, the tone of her voice happy now that she has gotten what she wants.

 

Maze can’t see her face, but she is certain if she did, she would want to punch it.

 

“Oh,” Liz says on the other side of the table, “here she comes.”

 

Maze leans up to look over the divider just as Natalie approaches the table and takes her seat.

 

“Sorry I’m late,” Natalie says, “I had to tie up a few loose ends.”

 

Liz smiles, “Still the same old workaholic Nat,” she says.

 

Natalie smiles and turns her eyes to Maggie.

 

“Maggie,” she nods, “it’s been a long time.”

 

Maggie nods and throws a soft – and seemingly forced – smile her way.

 

“Nat,” she says, “It’s good to see you. Congrats on the promotion, by the way.”

 

“Thanks,” Nat says.

 

On the other side of the divider, Maze raises her eyebrows. She didn’t even know these people, yet she could feel a strange tenseness that intrigues her.

 

“Yeah, how is it now that you’re a big-time Lieutenant?” Liz asks, “is it everything you hoped for?”

 

Natalie smiles and picks up the menu on the table, “It’s … it has its ups and downs. I’ve done a lot to turn this precinct around, and there is still a lot to do, but I’m moderately pleased with it so far.”

 

Liz smiles and nudges Maggie, “Moderately pleased,” she says.

 

Maggie chuckles, “Sounds like _someone_ is excited.”

 

Natalie furrows her eyebrows. She can’t tell if they are making fun of her or …

 

“I actually spoke to Father Grayson a couple of weeks ago,” Maggie says, “He asked me about you.”

 

“Did he?” Natalie says, a strong disinterest in her voice.

 

“You spoke with Father Grayson?” Liz asks as if she wasn’t aware of this.

 

Maggie turns to her and nods, “Yeah. I wanted to see if we could book the cathedral for the wedding.”

 

“I thought we were settled on the estate in the hills?” she asks, displeased with this fact.

 

“I know, I just ... wanted to have a backup, just in case.”

 

“At a catholic church?” Liz says the tone in her voice amused.

 

Maggie shakes her head and doesn’t say anything. She reaches for her water and takes a sip, a visible deflation in her posture.

 

The waiter approaches the table, and Natalie turns to him like he was a knight.

 

 _Thank God_ , she thinks.

 

“Yes, wine. What do you have?” Natalie asks him.

 

The waiter looks at her, “Uhhhh,” he says, his prepared introduction disappearing from his mind.

 

 “White or Red?”

 

“Red,” Natalie says.

 

“Naturally,” Liz says with a smile.

 

Natalie looks at her for a moment, then back at the waiter.

 

“I can offer you a nice Pinot or Nebbiolo,” he says.

 

She shakes her head, “No, bolder.”

 

“Uhm,” he says, trying to think of what was in the cellar, “How about a Merlot?”

 

She shakes her head, “No, do you have a Syrah?”

 

The waiter frowns, “Unfortunately, we sold our last bottle about an hour ago. We have an excellent Cabernet Sauvignon from-“

 

“Perfect,” she says, “I’ll take that.”

 

He pauses and looks at her for a moment, “We … we only sell those by the bottle.”

 

She looks at him, unblinking and a slight offense behind her eyes. He nods.

 

“Excellent choice,” he says, bowing before turning around.

 

She turns back to Liz and Maggie, who stare at her.

 

“What?” she says.

 

“You were a schoolyard bully, weren’t you?” Liz says.

 

Maggie laughs a little too hard at that, and Liz turns to her.

 

“She was, wasn’t she?”

 

Maggie shakes her head, “No, no … she was always in detention. She never had a chance to go to the playground.”

 

“Not that I would want to mind you,” Natalie says, crossing her arms and sitting back in her seat, “Children are the worst, especially when you are a child yourself.”

 

“Why was she in detention?” Liz asks as if already knowing the answer but needing confirmation.

 

“She didn’t like the way the teachers spoke to her, so she … gave them a piece of her mind,” Maggie says with a smile.

 

Natalie nods as if pleased with the factuality of that statement.

 

“Natalie having a problem with authority?” Liz says, sarcasm dripping with her voice, “ _No_. I don’t believe it.”

 

Natalie rolls her eyes, trying to keep the smile starting to peek itself in the corner of her lips at bay.

 

“I believe in fairness above all,” Natalie says, “Life is unfair. No need for people to be so as well.”

 

The table falls into silence. The weight of the sentiment of her words maybe being too heavy for the gathering.

 

Natalie looks at them, realizing the faux pas of her statement.

 

 _Right_ , she thinks, _People don’t like the truth when it makes them feel bad._

 

Natalie lets out a deep breath and turns her neck to stretch, her muscles suddenly tense. She needed a drink to get through this.

 

Why did she agree to come here?

 

“So, where’s your girlfriend?” Maggie says, “Liz said you had some hottie on your leash this time.”

 

“Hmm?” Natalie hums, turning back to Maggie.

 

She full well heard what she said, she just needed to buy her time to think about the answer.

 

“Yeah, I spoke with one of your employees when I dropped off the invitation. You know, the one you haven’t read yet,” Liz says, restating her annoyance that Natalie has yet to read the invitation.

 

“Again, I’ve been busy,” Natalie says.

 

“and Ellen, I think - said you were out to lunch with your girlfriend,” Liz continues.

 

“Liz said you were bringing her,” Maggie says.

 

Liz nods to confirm.

 

“Oh,” Natalie says, her eyes browsing over the menu as she tries to figure out what she is going to do.

 

She sighs to herself and sets the menu down, deciding on the truth instead. Lies were hard to keep up with. Lies meant she cared enough about their opinions.

 

It made her seem like she was bothered.

 

She wasn’t bothered, right?

 

_Why should she be bothered?_

 

Liz was an adult and if she wanted to marry an Ellen DeGeneres clone then … that was her prerogative.

 

“About that…” Natalie begins, “It seems in some strange attempt at comradery Ms. Lopez may have misled you about the nature of my-“

 

Maze turns the corner as Natalie speaks, and her eyes naturally move up to her. She pauses as she recognizes Maze.

 

“There you are,” Maze says, walking around the divider and heading towards their table.

 

Natalie looks at her, a combination of shock and confusion in her eyes.

 

What was _she_ doing here?

 

Her eyes drop down to Maze’s outfit, and she takes note of it. A passing glance, but one that still lingers somehow.

 

Maze approaches and sits next to Natalie, forcing her to scoot over.

 

“Ms. Smith, this is entirely inappropriate-,” Natalie begins.

 

“I know, sorry I’m late,” Maze says as she crosses her arm behind Natalie and pulls her close.

 

“You call her Ms. Smith?” Liz says, a small smile on her face.

 

“Yes, she works for-,“ Natalie begins to say again.

 

“She calls me that when I’ve been a _bad_ girl,” Maze says, winking.

 

She turns to Natalie, “She’s such a _stickler_ for rules.”

 

Liz laughs.

 

“One might say she gets off on them,” Liz says, her eyes meeting Natalie, the implication behind them thick.

 

Natalie stares at Maze, a dumbfounded look on her face. She has no idea how to parse this information. Furthermore, she’s exceptionally uncomfortable by the percentage of skin her and Maze are touching.

 

They sit there for a moment as Natalie tries to figure out what to do.  Well, short of having a short and direct conversation with Ms. Smith about her role at the LAPD and how not to cross professional boundaries.

 

Maze just made it so much more difficult for her when she tells the truth and also has to explain why someone is claiming to be her girlfriend. Would they think she planned this? That she was truly pathetic enough to hire a date?

 

Was she pathetic enough to hire a date?

 

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Liz asks.

 

“Yeah, aren’t you going to introduce us?” Maze asks, her eyes telling Natalie to get it together.

 

Natalie turns to see Liz and Maggie, staring at them.

 

“Uh,” Natalie says, turning to Maze, who sits back and smiles.

 

“Uh,” she says, turning back to a waiting Liz and Maggie, “Sure. Liz, this is … Ms.-”

 

“Maze,” Maze says, “you can call me Maze. Ms. Smith is _our_ thing.”

 

Liz nods and reaches her hand out to shake Maze’s hand. Maze looks at her hand, then back to Liz but doesn’t move. Liz awkwardly pulls her hand back.

 

“Maze,” Liz says again, “That’s an interesting name. I haven’t heard that before.”

 

“It’s an old name,” she says.

 

Liz nods, still unsure about how to take Maze.

 

“Well, I’m Elizabeth and this-,” she says, turning to the woman next to her, “is my fiancé Maggie.”

 

“Fiancé,” Maze says, pretending as if she didn’t already know that information.

 

She knew more about the two people sitting across from her from the brief conversations they had before Natalie arrived. They were bland and boring. Probably the most interesting bit of their existence was this strange dynamic they had. Liz was controlling and manipulative, and Maggie – despite her appearance - was a shrinking violet.

 

Natalie, however … she knew very little about Natalie.  Most of all, how Natalie and Liz were in a relationship at all. Their personalities seemed too at odds with one another.

 

She turns to Natalie as she speaks, wanting to see her reaction and hoping it would give her a clue as to what she is dealing with.

 

Natalie gives her a look as if to suggest she is stepping on hallowed ground.

 

“Wow, tell me more, “Maze says, feigning interest as she turns back to Liz.

 

Natalie fakes a smile and turns to Maze.

 

“Ms. Smith,” Natalie says, her tone stern, “Can I speak with you? _In private_?”

 

Maze smiles to herself and turns to Liz, “Uh oh, someone’s in trouble.”

 

Liz raises her eyebrows and turns to Maggie. Maggie shrugs and reaches for the glass of water in front of her.

 

Maze stands up from the booth, and Natalie scoots out. They walk a few feet away into a nearby hallway that leads to the lady's room.

 

“What are you doing?” Natalie asks, her tone low but incensed.

 

“A favor. You’re welcome,” Maze says.

 

“How is this a _good_ thing? You lying to my ex and making me look like an idiot?”

 

Maze chuckles, “Oh no, don’t put that on me. Did you hear yourself? It was torture listening to you speak. You should be thanking me. I’m here to cover your ass.”

 

Natalie opens her mouth to say something then pauses.

 

“Why _are_ you here, Ms. Smith?” she asks, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

 

Maze shrugs, “I’m suspended, remember? I suddenly find myself with a lot more time on my hands. Maybe I like coming to fancy restaurants. You don’t know.”

 

Natalie rolls her eyes and turns to the booth to see Liz and Maggie holding hands and talking.

 

Maze turns and sees it too.

 

“Do you enjoy it?” Maze asks.

 

Natalie turns to her, “What?”

 

“Do you enjoy the torture?” Maze asks, looking deep into her eyes, trying to find something – anything – demonic there.

 

Natalie looks at her oddly, unsure whether she wanted to go back to the table or stay here with Maze.

 

“I’m asking because I usually enjoy watching torture, but even this is … _this_ is a lot,” Maze says.

 

Natalie looks at her, “I’m doing fine, I don’t need your assistance. While on some level, I appreciate your attempt, this is still highly unprofessional, and I will have a conversation with you in the morning about workplace boundaries.”

 

She turns to leave, and Maze grabs her arm.

 

Natalie pauses and looks at Maze’s grip on her arm, then turns her eyes up to Maze. She isn’t happy with how Maze holds on to her. She doesn’t like being told what to do, let alone being held back the way Maze is holding her back.

 

Maze rolls her eyes as if annoyed with herself that she wants to help. Why did she want to help? The only human she cared about was Trixie, and by default, Chloe. And she supposes on some level Ella and … maybe Dan.

 

Shit, she was racking up friends. She narrows her eyes.

 

_Maybe she should let this one go?_

 

Natalie yanks her arms away from Maze.

 

“Ms. Smith,” Natalie begins, “I-“

 

“ _Look_ , If you don’t want me here, that’s fine,” Maze says, “but you can’t deny that sitting next to _that_ for the next hour and a half is going to sting.”

 

Natalie turns to see Maggie and Liz talking. They are smiling and joking. The offense in Natalie’s eyes fall. She shakes her head to herself.

 

“I get it,” Maze continues, “you want to act all strong, and you don’t want them to see that it hurts. Believe me, I get it. But you’re going to fucking blow it if you don’t have a buffer. That chick is your Achilles, and you’re going to blow it.”

 

Natalie pauses, her eyes drop, revealing a vulnerability that is not at all demon-like. Maze watches her, in awe at the shield dropping – if only momentarily.

 

Natalie sighs.

 

“Is it that obvious?” she asks.

 

She turns to Maze and Maze nods. Suddenly she wants to help, _really_ help.

 

“You’re here. By yourself. On a date with your ex and her fiancé. I think it’s _pretty_ obvious,” Maze says.

 

Natalie sighs. She stares out at Liz and Maggie for a moment, then turns to look at Maze. Her eyes cascade down Maze’s body again, a glance that looks more than innocent. Maze catches it and squints her eyes.

 

“Fine, “she says, convinced Maze could play the part, “but only for dinner then we ‘break up,’ okay?”

 

Maze nods, “and I don’t have to do my certification.”

 

Natalie tilts her head in surprise, shocked and somewhat pleased at the mile Maze is trying to pull from an inch.

 

“You pretend to be my love interest,” Natalie counteroffers, crossing her arms, “and I _don’t_ completely fire you.”

 

Maze thinks about it for a moment. Natalie sees her hesitation and sighs.

 

She rolls her eyes again, this not even being her idea.

 

“ _and_ I’ll pay for your food,” Natalie says.

 

“Deal,” Maze says.

 

Natalie turns to walk off, and Maze slaps her ass. Natalie pauses and turns around, a look of disgust in her face.

 

“and _don’t_ touch me,” she says.

 

“Oh, come on,” Maze says, “we’re a handsy couple.”

 

“No, we are not,” Natalie says as she walks back to the table.

 

Natalie reaches the table and scoots in, putting on a fake smile.

 

“Sorry about that,” she says, “we just had to discuss a few things.”

 

Maze comes and sits next to her and leans back in her chair.

 

“Told you I was in trouble,” Maze says, before turning to Natalie.

 

“You’ll spank me later, right?” Maze says.

 

Liz and Maggie exchange knowing glances. Liz reaches for her glass of water and sips it, a smile in the corner of her mouth.

 

Natalie turns to Maze, unamused anger behind her eyes. Maze licks her teeth with a smile. It’s a shame Natalie wasn’t an actual date. She imagines the sex would be … amazing. Like taming a mountain lion.

 

“Perhaps we should order something?” Natalie says, turning her attention to the menu.

 

“Please, I’m starving,” Maggie says as she raises her hand to call over a waiter.

 

Maze looks at Natalie, then down at the menu.

 

“You’re paying, right, _sweetie_? I mean, I would pay but, I just recently got suspended so …”

 

“Don’t call me that,” Natalie says.

 

Liz laughs, “She hates terms of endearment.”

 

Maze turns to Liz and looks her over for a second as if sizing her up.

 

 “Of course, she does,” she says, an annoyed tone in her voice.

 

She seems unhappy that Liz Is interrupting her obvious enjoyment with messing with Natalie.

 

 “They’re for children,” she finishes.

 

Liz furrows her eyebrows, not sure how to feel about Maze, but feeling she might be a _little_ aggressive.

 

Maggie pipes up, “So, where do you work when you’re not suspended?” she asks.

 

“I’m a bounty hunter,” Maze says, “I track humans.”

 

Liz smiles and nods before turning to Natalie.

 

“A bounty hunter? _Wow_. That’s … that’s great,” she says, the tone in her voice judgmental.

 

Maze catches the tone and lowers her menu.

 

“You don’t like my job?” she asks.

 

Liz shakes her head, “What? No, No. It’s just …. If we are being honest, bounty hunters are just reckless vigilantes. I personally think its best the task of tracking fugitives be left to more … trained professionals.”

 

“Do you now?” Maze says flatly, an uninterested annoyance in her voice.

 

“Ms. Smith is actually one of our more prolific trackers,” Natalie says, “She’s an excellent asset to our department.”

 

Maze nods, “Hear that? Excellent asset.”

 

Liz nods, “Right, yes. I mean, I’m sure you’re great at your job,” Liz says, to Maze, “but … some of the bounty hunters aren’t so _talented_.”

 

Maze leans back, “I’ve trained my whole life for this position.”

 

Natalie scoffs. 

 

 _Her whole life?_ she thinks, _that’s a bit of a stretch. She is barely certified._

God, she was an _uncertified_ bounty hunter.

_Where is her wine?_

 

“Right, but … you have to admit that some of your peers barely pass the test,” Liz says.

 

“Like who?” Maze says, her eyes narrowing.

 

“Maybe we should just … order something?” Natalie says, sensing this could go south real fast.

 

“Right,” Liz says, “I see. I can take a hint. I didn’t mean anything by it, I just … Nat has a way of picking women that-.”

 

“I don’t think it’s any of your business what kind of woman she wants,” Maze says, highly annoyed by this Liz character.

 

“Ms. Smith,” Natalie says, cautioning Maze.

 

“I’m just saying, nothing wrong with it. It’s just … she certainly has a type,” Liz says, chuckling uneasily.

 

It’s clear she isn’t used to being challenged, at least not in the way Maze is challenging her.

 

“Right, like you, with your law thing,” Maze says.

 

Liz laughs and nods, “Well, I’m a lawyer, if that is what you are saying. I wouldn’t exactly call it a _law thing_.”

 

“Well, I catch the bad guys, and you put them in jail,” Maze says, “Its practically the same thing.”

 

Liz seems to get flustered and shakes her head.

 

“It’s not the same thing, no,” she says, “and I’m a defense attorney, not a prosecutor. Prosecution is easy. Child’s play.”

 

Maze furrows her eyebrows.

 

“What is the difference?”

 

Maggie sighs, knowing where this was going. Maybe this _was_ a bad idea.

 

“Defense lawyers use all legalese available to us to really … test the edge of democracy,” Liz says, “It’s like taking the government to the gym by making sure it works fairly for everyone.”

 

Natalie notices the confused look on Maze’s face and leans towards her, “She represents the guys you bring in.”

 

Maze turns to Liz, a look of horror on her face.

 

“You _help_ them?”

 

Liz nods, “Everyone deserves a fair trial.”

 

Maze shakes her head and chuckles in disgust.

 

“You fucked her?” Maze asks Natalie, the one of her question indicating her disbelief.

 

Just then, the waiter returns with four empty glasses and a bottle of wine.

 

“Oh, _thank God_ ,” Natalie says.

 

He sets the glasses down in front of Natalie and Maze, then Liz and Maggie.

 

“Oh, no, thank you, we don’t drink,” Liz says with a smile.

 

He nods and grabs the glasses back up.

 

Maze looks at her, hating her more by the second.

 

“We’re watching our figure for the wedding,” Liz says.

 

Maze squints her eyes and looks at Maggie, who doesn’t seem so convinced by the idea.

 

“Both of you?” Maze asks.

 

Liz looks at Maggie and nods.

 

“Both of us, right, babe?” she says.

 

Maggie nods, and Liz turns back to Maze with a smile.

 

Maze sits back in her seat.

 

Maybe she had the Lieutenant wrong. It was Liz who was the demon.

 

Maze scoffs and turns to Natalie. She stares at her, her eyes asking so many questions about why Natalie chose this Liz person. She is passive-aggressive, doesn’t drink, and _actively_ helps bad guys.

 

Natalie shakes her head, her eyes begging Maze to let it go.

 

The waiter pours wine into both of their glasses then sets the bottle in a bucket of ice nearby.

 

He leaves, and the table reverts to silence.

 

“So,” Maggie says, hoarsely before clearing her throat, “How did you two meet?”

 

Natalie and Maze look at each other.

 

“How did we meet?” Natalie asks, bringing the glass of wine up to her lips to take a sip.

 

It buys her time to think.

 

“At work,” Maze pipes up, the annoyance still in her voice as she looks at Liz, daring her to say something.

 

Natalie chokes a little on her wine.

 

Okay, not the _best_ love story, but … it will do.

 

“Well, Nat practically lives at work, so it only makes sense she plays there too,” Liz says with a smile.

 

Natalie shakes her head, “No, no, I assure you it is all very professional. Ms. Smith and I hardly cross paths during the day.”

 

“Yes, I’m usually out being a … what did you call it?” She asks, turning to Liz, “a _reckless_ vigilante?”

 

“Ms. Smith,” Natalie warns again.

 

“I’m just utterly confused as to how _you_ picked _her_ ,” Maze says.

 

“May I remind you, Ms. Smith, I also picked _you_ ,” Natalie says, reminding Maze of the role she decided to play for herself.

 

Maze pauses.

 

Right, she was supposed to be making this much easier, not worst. She nods and leans back in her seat.

 

“Right. Of course,” Maze says, nodding, “Because I’m your girlfriend. Though, to be fair, that isn’t how I remembered it.”

 

“Remembered?” Natalie says, an amused intrigue behind her eyes.

 

How could she remember something that never happened?

 

“Yeah,” Maze says, back into taking delight in messing with Natalie, “You saw me and just _couldn’t_ take your eyes off this ass.”

 

Natalie chuckles and shakes her head, “That’s how you remember it? Please, Ms. Smith, if you’re going to give our relationship a genesis story, be more realistic.”

 

Maze nods, squinting her eyes, searching for clarification, “Realistic? So, you’re saying I don’t have a nice ass?”

 

Natalie stares at her, an amused smile behind her eyes. Liz watches their interaction, it seems … carefree and fun.

 

Maze watches the smile peel into the corner of Natalie’s mouth as she shakes her head, unsure of what to say.

 

“Come on,” Maze says as she scoots out and stands up. She turns around.

 

“You can’t say that isn’t good, right?”

 

Natalie’s eyes drift down to the leather-clad backside of Maze, and she takes a sip of her wine.

 

She still shakes her head, not saying anything.

 

It was as unprofessional as it was amusing.

 

Natalie turns to Maggie, who sips a glass of water and watches the conversation with a smile on her face.

 

“No,” Natalie says into her glass.

 

“You’re a _fucking_ liar,” Maze says, amusement in her voice as she moves to sit back down.

 

Natalie smiles widely and takes a sip of wine.

 

“So, _how_ did you two meet?” Liz asks, interrupting their conversation to get them back on track.

 

Natalie turns to Liz, her smile falling.

 

“Like I said, through work,” Maze says, back to being annoyed by Liz, “I brought in this big dude, must have been two-sixty, maybe two-hundred and seventy poun-“

 

Natalie taps her on the leg, informing her she should shut up. Maze looks at her, and Natalie leans in.

 

“Lawyer,” she says.

 

They lock eyes, and then Maze turns to Liz and nods.

 

“Ah, right. Well … long story short. She saw me, I saw her. She thought I was hot,” she says turning to Natalie and daring her to say something against honest facts.

 

“and the rest is history,” Maze says, turning to Liz.

 

Natalie rolls her eyes. She will allow it. This was much better than having to sit through Liz and Maggie talking about their wedding or prodding for Natalie’s feelings.

 

 _Plus_ , she had wine now.

 

Liz smiles, “She definitely has an eye for women,” she says.

 

Natalie and Liz meet eyes just as the waiter comes over. There is something there, and Maze catches eyes with Maggie, who then turns to look at Liz.

 

“Are you ladies ready to order?” he asks.

 

“Yes,” Maggie pipes up.

 

Liz clears her throat and turns back to her menu.

 

She nods, “Yes, everything looks so _delicious_ ,” she says, keeping her eyes on the menu.

 

She is saying it to the menu, but there is something behind her words that Natalie notices. Maze notices that Natalie notices.

 

Maggie is too busy trying to figure out what she wants to eat to notice anything.

 

**\--**

 

Inside the elevator to his penthouse, Amenadiel stands with the tin box full of souls while Lucifer carries with him a white takeout container. He seems pleased with himself.

 

“Yet another crisis averted,” he says, smiling, “and tonight will be exceptional. I’ve planned everything out to the letter.”

 

Amenadiel smiles, “You did go all out,” he says, “I’ve never seen you so eager to make everything  so perfect.”

 

He nods and smiles, “Hopefully the Detective will be as pleased as you,”

 

Amenadiel laughs, and the elevator falls into silence.

 

He smiles, falls as he starts to think.

 

“Listen, Luci … whatever is happening to you clearly won't easily be reversed, but … maybe we can slow it down? Buy some time until we figure this out,” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer smiles, “Yes and all of that _will_ wait until after my evening with the Detective.”

 

The elevator dings and the doors open.

 

“As they say, all work and no play makes the devil-“ Lucifer says as he steps out into his penthouse.

 

He looks up to see Ezria and Calmos dining on the food that was meant for him and Chloe.

 

“-Angry,” he says, a red flame popping into his eyes.

 

Ezria and Calmos lookup. Calmos is horrified and immediately stops eating while Ezria seems pleased to see Lucifer.

 

“Brother!” he says with a smile as he stands.

 

“What are you doing here?” Lucifer asks, stepping forward cautiously as if controlling a seething rage inside of his body, “and eating the meal I spent all day arranging for the Detective no less.”

 

Ezria pauses. He thinks then looks around the penthouse again. He had thought everything had been prepared for him, for his visit to earth. Yet, he supposes it makes more sense he had prepared it for a woman.

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

“Yes, oh,” Lucifer says angrily.

 

“I’m sorry, my king,” Calmos says, his head bowed to the ground.

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to him.

 

Ezria shakes his head, “Come Calmos, you don’t have to apologize it’s a simple mis-“

 

“Apologize?” Lucifer says, his anger turning into maniacal laughter, “What good will an apology do me?”

 

Ezria and Calmos look at each other before they both turn to Amenadiel. All three share the same look, unsure of what might come next.

 

Lucifer turns and walks towards the bar, setting the lemon bars on top of it.

 

“At every turn … _every_ single move I make, there is something that gets in the way of my desire,” Lucifer says.

 

He turns back to Ezria, his smile falling and the anger reappearing.

 

“To be clear, I expect nothing _less_ than an apology,” he says, “but what will that do me? Will that undo the food you’ve eaten? Or the time you’ve wasted in my penthouse? No!”

 

Amenadiel sets the tin box at the feet of the piano and pushes it in, allowing it to be out of the way.

 

“Lucifer, it’s not a big deal, Chloe will understand,” Amenadiel says

 

“Will she brother?” he asks, “I’ve only had _one_ job this evening, and that was to make tonight perfect.”

 

He scoffs and turns to pour himself a glass of whiskey.

 

There is a tense silence there. Ezria turns to Calmos, who still bows, daring not to look up towards Lucifer. Ezria doesn’t like it. He doesn’t like how Calmos defers to someone else.

 

“I’ve come to speak with you about taking more of a leadership role in Hell,” he says.

 

Lucifer sips on his whiskey, fuming behind the eyes. But it’s not outward anger, it’s more of an anger directed at himself.

 

He was swimming against the current trying to make things perfect for her, this whole evening.  Even with dealing with crossroad demons, and souls, and his own personal issues, he had tried to make the evening _perfect_ for her. One normal, non-celestial event to prove to her, maybe prove to himself, it was possible. _An angel and a human._

 

Ezria slowly approaches Lucifer.

 

“I figured with you being here on earth, they might need someone to lead them. I would like to be that someone,” Ezria says.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Do as you wish,” he says, a strange calmness in him.

 

Almost like he’s given up.

 

Ezria and Amenadiel look at one another, both having the same thought.

 

Ezria turns to Calmos.

 

“Would you give me a moment to consult with my brother?” he asks.

 

Calmos nods and stands.

 

“I’ll show you downstairs,” Amenadiel says, turning to the elevator.

 

The elevator doors open, and Amenadiel and Calmos get in. As soon as the doors close, Ezria turns to Lucifer.

 

“I have may questions for you, Brother,” he says.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “I don’t care,” he says.

 

Ezria furrows his eyebrows, and Lucifer sees it in the mirror. He sighs.

 

It wasn’t Ezria’s fault. He had gotten so used to blaming others, taking it out on others … maybe accepting responsibility for his actions also meant accepting responsibility for the way he made others feel.

 

He had invited Ezria.

 

He had _ignored_ that Ezria had come through the door.

 

He should have known Ezria would be waiting for him.

 

It was his fault and his alone.

 

He turns to Ezria and shakes his head.

 

“My apologies,” Lucifer says, “I just … I don’t know anymore.”

 

Ezria nods.

 

“If you wish, I can hold my questions until after your evening with …,” he says.

 

He pauses, not remembering the name of the woman he inhabited.

 

“Chloe,” Lucifer says, finishing his thought.

 

“Yes, Chloe,” Ezria says, “My questions can wait until your evening with Chloe.”

 

“I believe your questions to be the last of my problems,” he says, shaking his head as he looks at the destroyed plates of food.

 

Perhaps steak wasn’t the best choice anyway? Maybe he should have gotten something lighter. The Detective certainly wouldn’t want to be intimate on a heavy stomach. He wonders if he had enough time to cater a lighter meal. He looks at his watch and shakes his head. She would be here soon, there was no time.

 

He lowers his watch.

 

He turns his eyes back to Ezria and notices his posture. Ezria stands, his hands crossed behind his back like a child waiting to be chastised.

 

Lucifer looks at him and tilts his head. He lets go of a large sigh.

 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a money clip. He unfurls several hundred-dollar bills and hands them to Ezria.

 

“I will have Amenadiel escort you and your demon friend to a hotel that will accommodate you for the evening. I’ll call ahead and make the reservation for you. Use this to buy food and … maybe something that fits.”

 

Ezria looks down at the loose suit he wears.

 

“In the morning, I will answer any question and provide you with anything you need,” Lucifer says.

 

Ezria smiles and takes the money.

 

“I truly am sorry for ruining your evening, Lucifer. It was not my intention.”

 

Lucifer nods, “I believe you,” he says.

 

Even Ezria finds his calmness alarming.

 

Ezria nods and looks at Lucifer suspiciously before turning and approaching the elevator. He pauses for a second, and his eyes search inside his mind.

 

“Uhm,” he says, turning back to Lucifer.

 

“I did have one question, that is … well, _somewhat_ important, and best asked in private.”

 

Lucifer raises his eyebrows, “Oh?”

 

Ezria nods and nervously fiddles with the money in his hand.

 

“Have you ever … uhm.”

 

“Out with it,” Lucifer says impatiently.

 

“Laid with … you know, your kind?”

 

Lucifer looks at Ezria, confused.

 

 Annoyed and confused.

 

“What? My Kind, what are you talking about? Angels?”

 

“No,” Ezria says, “I mean. What I meant to say was have you ever … with another male.”

 

“Oh,” Lucifer says.

 

 “Ohhh,” he says again, finally catching what Ezria is saying, “Yes, of course, all the time.”

 

“Really? I mean … isn’t that … Doesn’t father forbid that?”

 

“I believe the rule was not to lay with your own as in, perhaps we shouldn’t be engaging in physical relationships with our own brother and sisters. I’ve never known him to be upset about _non-related_ and consensual intimacy between two people of any gender.”

 

“Oh,” Ezria says, “Okay.”

 

Lucifer squints his eyes, already knowing the answer to his question but deciding to ask it anyway.

 

 “Why do you ask?”

 

Ezria shakes his head, “I just… I was curious, is all.”

 

Lucifer stares at him, his eyes tracing down the ill-fitted suit he wears and piecing together small bits of information. A smile comes to his face, and he nods.

 

“You want to have sex with that demon, don’t you?”

 

“What?” Ezria says, “Who, Calmos? No, no … Calmos is … he’s -“

 

“Delightfully young and fit,” Lucifer says.

 

Ezria furrows his eyebrows, “I … I wouldn’t know,”

 

Lucifer chuckles and sighs. It seems they were both in the same boat. Chasing the affection of someone who perhaps would be better off without them.

 

Lucifer smiles and looks at Ezria for a moment before turning and heading up the stairs to his bedroom.

 

“I can’t give you much advice, brother. At least not without going into detail that would be unpleasant for both of us,” he says.

 

He approaches the side table by his bed and opens it before shuffling around and pulling out a half-used bottle of lubrication.

 

“But I will say if this is something you are interested in,” he says, turning back to Ezria and tossing the bottle his way.

 

Ezria catches it, barely, and turns the bottle to read the label.

 

“You’re going to need that,” he says.

 

Ezria looks at it oddly then turns to Lucifer.

 

“I don’t understand,” Ezria says.

 

Lucifer chuckles and slides his sandals off before peeling the shirt off his body and tossing it into his closet.

 

“You will,” he says.

 

“Now,” Lucifer says, “If you don’t mind … I have to prepare for my evening.”

 

Ezria nods and shoves the bottle into his pocket. It bulges out, and it's clear it is not meant to fit into his pocket.

 

He presses the elevator button, and when the doors open, he steps in and heads down to the club.

 

\--

 

The bar of LUX is empty, with the exception of servers running around preparing the club for the next night’s rush.

 

Amenadiel stands behind the bar, pouring a glass of whiskey for an intrigued Calmos.

 

“What is this?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel smiles.

 

“It’s called whiskey. It’s a kind of alcohol, like all the other bottles on the wall,” he says.

 

Calmos looks up to the bottles on the wall. All shapes and sizes, colors, and probably smells too.

 

“Mortals can’t get enough of the stuff,” Amenadiel says.

 

He finishes pouring a tiny amount and slides it to Calmos.

 

“Try it,” he says.

 

Calmos timidly pulls the glass toward him and sniffs it. It burns his nose and makes his face scrunch up.

 

“Whoa,” he says.

 

Amenadiel chuckles.

 

“Are you sure this isn’t for the lanterns?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “Just drink it,” he says.

 

Calmos looks at Amenadiel, unsure before turning his eyes back to the glass.

 

He takes a timid sip before his face scrunches up again, and he hacks.

 

“Oh… _oh_ , it burns,” he says.

 

Amenadiel chuckles to himself, and Calmos sets the glass on the table and moves it away from him.

 

“You don’t have alcohol in Hell, I take it,” Amenadiel says.

 

Calmos shakes his head, still trying to get that taste out of his mouth, “One thing the mortals have that we don’t is options. We went to a market earlier today, and there were so many treats just lying about. Different colors, smells …we only have one thing. Meat. Burned meat, uncooked meat. Just meat.”

 

Amenadiel frowns and nods.

 

Calmos shakes his head and looks up at Amenadiel as he pours himself a drink. Calmos furrows his eyebrows and watches as Amenadiel takes a sip of his own whiskey.

 

“Do you feel shame too?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel turns and looks at him oddly.

 

“What?”

 

“Shame,” he says, “for not being in the silver city anymore. Do you feel it as well?”

 

Amenadiel thinks for a moment. At one point, he did feel shame, he was afraid to go back. Now, he isn’t sure if he wanted to.

 

Father had manipulated him, lied to Amenadiel to do his bidding. Amenadiel wasn’t prepared to confront what that meant.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “No,” he says, the stability of that word lost a little.

 

“My Lord says that when Angels eat, they feel shame for what they’ve done,” he says, “they must be like mortals and eat but are never satiated.”

 

Amenadiel nods, understanding what Calmos is saying – despite him not saying it well.

 

Amenadiel moves and comes around the side of the bar before sitting next to him. He looks at him oddly for a moment as he parses what he wants to say.

 

Usually, demons were hard to speak with, even harder to like. Yet, Calmos seemed friendly and curious in a way that seems … off-putting. Like a child discovering the sky was blue for the first time.

 

“It is truly sad what has happened to them,” Amenadiel says, his eyes turned down as he thinks about their fall.

 

He had to deal with Lucifer this whole time as the angel who led the rebellion, the leader. But he imagines his followers also had remorse of their own. The only difference being they lacked the confidence or stamina to overcome their shame.

 

“But … we all have our own paths to follow,” Amenadiel says, recounting something his father once told him, “Perhaps, somehow, they are following that path.”

 

He had to have faith to believe that. Something he wasn’t sure he had anymore.

 

Yet, he says it with conviction, like a soldier recites an oath.

 

Calmos nods, and they sit in silence. He turns to look at Amenadiel, gauging this angel. He seemed kinder than Lucifer, or Ezria for that matter.  Kind enough that Calmos feels he could tell him the words he had kept to himself. The words he kept from Ezria.

 

He didn’t need Ezria to find him stranger than he clearly already believed him to be. He imagines Ezria wouldn’t like him anymore if he knew what he really thought.

 

“Sometimes,” he begins cautiously, trying to gauge how Amenadiel might react, “I feel … sad for them.”

 

Amenadiel pauses then slowly turns to Calmos, a shimmer of intrigue behind his eyes.

 

“I know what it feels like to be in a place that … doesn’t feel like home. How it feels to not belong. I imagine it must be hard to drown your sorrows in empty gestures like eating when you know you don’t need it. It must feel … lonely. It must feel _futile_.”

 

Amenadiel narrows his eyes, the intrigue now darker and less innocent.

 

“I suppose on some level,” Calmos continues, turning back to the glass of whiskey he discarded, “I understand that. I know what that feels like, to be in a place that doesn’t _quite_ feel like home.”

 

Calmos turns to Amenadiel as he finishes his statement and sees Amenadiel staring at him.

 

The sadness in his eyes drops to defense. Maybe this angel wasn’t kind. Maybe he should have kept that to himself.

 

“What?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel tilts his head, “I would like you to clarify,” he asks, wondering if he had heard what he just heard.

 

Calmos shrugs, a defense in his posture.

 

“I don’t know, it just … sometimes it feels like there’s more to life, you know? Like there is something else out there for me to explore or be apart of. Hell is my home, there is no doubt about that. But …this trip to earth has opened my eyes.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, his eyes going to the bar, imagining what life in hell might be like now.

 

Now that he’s seen the color of the sky.

 

Now that he’s tasted the color green.

 

Now that he’s smelled the sweetness of the air and actually knows what that word means.

 

_Sweet._

 

To have something be sweet.

 

 

 “I’m not sure if I can close them again,” he says sadly, already knowing he would.

 

It was his duty, his place to be in hell. To carry the water or … as he assumes, to make blades for his father.

 

His father was crude and mean, but …he was all Calmos had known. He doesn’t think he could survive both knowing about a world outside of hell while being lonely in his own.

 

Amenadiel stares at him, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to parse out what he is looking at.

 

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Calmos says regretfully.

 

The weight of what it means dawning on him.

 

The elevator dings, and Ezria steps out. Calmos turns to look at him right as Amenadiel stands up, his stool scooting back on the floor of the bar as he lurches forward.

 

Calmos, without looking, instinctively jumps back, away from Amenadiel – ready to fight.

 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Amenadiel says, holding out a hand and walking closer to Calmos.

 

Ezria approaches the balcony at the top and stares down at them as Amenadiel gets closer to Calmos.

 

Amenadiel places a hand on Calmos’ chest and stills his spirit.

 

“What is this?” Ezria asks.

 

Amenadiel turns to him, “Silence,” he asks.

 

Ezria looks just as confused as Calmos does as he starts to descend the steps towards the bar.

 

Amenadiel closes his eyes and peers into Calmos.

 

Here he sees the doors, the multitude of locked and tarred doors that makes him immortal – or at least harder to kill.

 

He passes them, going through each one until he is at the final door. Here he stares at it for a moment. Trying to gauge what is on the other side without opening it.

 

To open it would be wrong – surely, but he needed to know. Demons had no soul, that is what made them imperfect – at least in Father’s eyes. That is what had them cast down to hell, like a baker tosses cake in the trash after accidentally replacing sugar with salt.

 

Though, Amenadiel has no doubt it was not a mistake. Father _never_ made mistakes.

 

He had no doubt demons were also part of the plan.

 

Amenadiel stands there, in front of the door, trying hard to gauge what is behind it. He stands there for far too long until he hears a faint shuffling on the inside.

 

“Hello?” he asks, his voice powerful and strong.

 

Then silence.

 

“Hello?” a small voice from inside says, almost repeating him; learning.

 

Amenadiel stares forward, his eyes wide.

 

“Is someone there?” he asks.

 

“Is … is someone there?” it asks, timidly.

 

The words echoing his own, again, learning.

 

Amenadiel stays silent, unsure of how to proceed. He hadn’t expected there to be anyone on the other side. There was never anyone on the other side, at least not for demons.

 

Amenadiel opens his eyes and finds himself standing inside the bar of LUX. Calmos and Ezria look at him, confused about what he is doing. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at Calmos.

 

A demon with a soul? _How?_

 

He must be a halfling.

 

Halflings are usually mortal, humans with one door and no soul to answer.

 

But … immortal?

 

Immortal with a soul?

 

If he had wings, he would practically be an angel.

 

He shakes his head.

 

“No, this doesn’t make sense,” he says to himself as he backs up, feeling out the stool to catch his fall.

 

He plops down on the stool, trying to wrack his brain about how this could happen. Halflings had all but died. As time went on and humans became so genetically different from angels or demons, halflings became impossible. 

 

Humans with no soul, sure … happened all the time, but … demons with a soul? How …

 

He looks up at Calmos. Ezria steps forward, an annoyance in his voice.

 

“Brother, what is going on?”

 

“A halfling,” is all Amenadiel can muster out.

 

“What?” Ezria says before his head snaps to Calmos.

 

He looks him over for a moment, and in an instant, every curious thing he had found interesting about this demon had made sense.

 

Calmos’ curiosity, his confusion … the carrying around of the harmonica. He was a halfling. Not just any halfling either, he was a demon halfling … more demon than human.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, still trying to understand how this could happen. There had been only a few demon halflings in all of existence, but they had all been destroyed for obvious reasons.

 

Meanwhile, Calmos is shaking his head.

 

“I … no, you’re mistaken,” he says.

 

Ezria looks at him, shock implanted on his face, “A halfling,” he says, the word falling out of his mouth like it were a phrase he had never said.

 

It sounds like an insult to Calmos.

 

Calmos continues to shake his head, this time with offense behind it, “No! That’s … you’re wrong!”

 

“You said yourself,” Amenadiel says the shock wearing off as he sees the horror in Calmos’ eyes.

 

It’s clear he didn’t know.

 

“All that stuff you said about feeling different. Wondering about a world outside your own. That’s curiosity. Demon’s don’t feel that. That’s your human side coming out.”

 

“No,” Calmos says, “I have demon blood. _Strong_ , demon blood.”

 

Ezria turns to Amenadiel.

 

“And you’re sure?” he asks.

 

“I checked. He has a soul. Its small, underdeveloped, but … it’s there. A soul nonetheless.”

 

Calmos backs away from them, a terror starting to swell in his chest.

 

“No! I’m a demon,” he yells, the pain in his voice as tears start to swell in his eyes, “You’re a liar!”

 

Ezria steps forward and anger in his voice, “How _dare_ you ins-,” he says.

 

Amenadiel holds his hand out to Ezria, stopping him and insisting he not push.

 

“I am a demon! I am Calmos, son of Atmos! The best bladesmith in all of Hell.”

 

“Where’s your mother, Calmos? “Amenadiel asks.

 

“She died,” he says, “She was a crossroads demon who fell during the middle ages. Sliced and burned during the crusades.”

 

Amenadiel and Ezria look at each other, a knowing glance in their stare. Calmos notices it.

 

“What?” he says, his voice weak as if understanding he was on the verge of discovering the biggest lie he was ever told.

 

“There were no female crossroads demons in the middle ages, Calmos,” Amenadiel says, “Those times were _incredibly_ harsh on women. Crossroads demons have to make deals and go places unburdened.”

 

“Women weren’t the best for those tasks,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos shakes his head, the tears starting to fall from his face. A pained look of realization falling over him as he shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says, shaking his head, “No, that’s not true.”

 

“Atmos must have been a crossroads demon, “Ezria says to Amenadiel.

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

“He must have slept with a human woman and gotten her pregnant,” Amenadiel responds.

 

“Shouldn’t that have been impossible?” Ezria asks.

 

Amenadiel nods to himself, still trying to understand how this could have happened.

 

“Yes … yes, it should have been.”

 

“No! That’s a lie! Father would never! He … he would never!” Calmos screams, his arms wrapping around his body, trying to comfort himself.

 

Ezria turns to Calmos as Calmos continues to shake his head, his eyes closing and pushing the tears from them.

 

Ezria frowns as he is met with the overwhelming desire to hold Calmos. He fights it off. He doesn’t know why he wants to, but he does.

 

“I want to go home,” Calmos says, “take me _home_.”

 

Ezria shakes his head, “I still have many questions for Lucifer, Calmos.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “I can’t stay here. _Take me home_!” he pleads.

 

Ezria’s eyebrows drop, a steep sadness behind them.

 

“We must stay,” he says sadly.

 

Calmos’ breathing starts to become labored. He shakes his head, suddenly feeling claustrophobic, even in the wide expanse of the empty club.

 

He needed to get out. He needed … he needed to breathe.

 

_Why was the air here so sweet?_

 

He eyes a door behind the bar and heads straight for it.

 

Amenadiel and Ezria watch him leave. When he exits the door, Ezria sighs and turns to Amenadiel.

 

“A halfling,” he says, the shock of that idea still in his system.

 

“You should go after him,” Amenadiel says.

 

Ezria looks at him as if wondering why it was his responsibility.

 

“Halfling or not, a demon running free around the city is going to start catching the attention of … well, everybody.”

 

Ezria nods, “It’s probably best they need not know about him yet,” he says, “at least … not until I figure out what to do with him.”

 

Amenadiel nods, and Ezria calmly walks towards the door at the end of the bar, casually following Calmos.

 

\--

 

Back at the restaurant, the food has arrived, and everyone is deep into their meal. The conversation is more relaxed, and if passerby’s had to guess, it looked like four women having a good time.

 

Well, at least _three_ women.

 

Maze sits, her elbows holding up her head as her fork plays with her shrimp fettuccine. She looks absolutely bored by the conversation and is starting to regret the mess she got herself in.

 

She just wanted to find Natalie’s weakness and exploit it. How the _fuck_ did she end up at dinner with Liz and Maggie?

 

Maggie laughs as she wipes the residue of her chili off her lips.

 

“Oh, my goodness, it was the worst road trip ever!” Liz says, her eyes raised, appalled.

 

“I mean, we had to wait for hours until a tow truck could get us, and we were in the middle of nowhere!”

 

Natalie shrugs, “Oh, it wasn’t that bad,” she says.

 

“Wasn’t that bad? Nat, we had to –“

 

She pauses, her brain jumping two steps ahead, realizing what she is about to say.

 

She looks at Natalie, remembering those moments.

 

It had been raining, and they had been driving for six hours with four more hours to go. She had convinced Natalie to go to her parents for Thanksgiving despite Natalie protesting about the holiday and calling it a “celebration for the massacre of Natives.” She was upset about having to be away from her apartment for a week, having to spend time with people she didn’t care about.

 

And then they got stranded on the side of the road, in the rain, in the middle of nowhere.

 

They sat in the car for two hours waiting on a tow truck and in those two hours they laughed, they made love, they ate the rest of the sandwiches in the cooler they had packed. It was traveling, and traveling was annoying and tiresome, but …she was with Natalie, and despite her many particularities, Natalie had made it better.

 

“Like I said,” Natalie says, her mind going to those moments as well, “It wasn’t _that_ bad.”

 

Liz nods, her mind somewhere else. Maggie watches her curiously.

 

“What?” she asks, noticing how Liz’s mind is off somewhere else.

 

“Hmm?” she says, “Oh … uh, I was nervous … you know about being out in the middle of nowhere, but you know Nat. She kept telling me how she brought her knife and … well, it wasn’t a _gun_ but-”

 

“I wasn’t allowed to bring my firearm across state lines,” Natalie says, clarifying, “Otherwise, I would have had that.”

 

Maze raises an eyebrow and turns to Natalie.

 

“Knives?” she asks, her interest suddenly piqued as she leans her head off her elbow.

 

Natalie takes a sip of wine and nods.

 

“It’s my preferred weapon of defense. Easy to carry, easy to conceal, and just as deadly. Plus, I don’t have to waste money on bullets.”

 

“She’s very frugal with her-“ Liz begins.

 

Maze waves Liz off, not interested in hearing what she had to say right now.

 

Liz doesn’t like that. It irks her to hell and back.

 

“What kind of knife?” Maze asks.

 

“Butterfly,” Natalie replies.

 

“She has a few of them,” Liz says, “She even sleeps with one under her pillow.”

 

Maze squints her eyes and nods, “Smart.”

 

Natalie raises her eyes and nods as she looks at Liz, “See?!”

 

Liz rolls her eyes.

 

“What kind of blade?” Maze asks.

 

“I already told you, it’s a butterfly knife,” Natalie replies.

 

“That’s the referring to the mechanism, I mean what kind of blade do you have on it?”

 

Natalie shrugs and furrows her eyebrows. _How the hell is she supposed to know that?_

 

“I don’t know,” she says.

 

She turns and reaches into the small clutch she has jammed between the seat and the divider. Then she turns as she pulls out a butterfly knife with a matte black handle. She hands it to Maze.

 

“Of course, she brought it,” Liz says, not surprised.

 

“Never leave home without it,” Natalie smiles.

 

Maze takes it and flips it open in one swift move, as if she had years of experience with it. Liz covers her eyes and raises her hand.

 

“Be careful with that thing!” she says.

 

Maze looks at her annoyed, then down at the blade. She runs her fingers over it. It’s sharp, deadly sharp, but not serrated. It's smooth and has a good weight to it.

 

She nods pleased, “Nice,” she says, flipping it closed and handing it back to Natalie.

 

Natalie looks at Maze oddly then places the knife back in her bag.

 

“How come you didn’t have that in the parking garage?” Maze asks.

 

Natalie turns to her and laughs, “Who says I didn’t?

 

“Well, you didn’t pull it out.”

 

Natalie’s smile falls, and she turns to her wine glass. She grabs her glass and takes a sip.

 

“You thought I was bluffing?” Maze says, recognizing that look.

 

Natalie turns her eyes to Maze.

 

“I _knew_ you were bluffing,” she says.

 

“I wasn’t,” Maze replies.

 

“You were,” Natalie says.

 

They look at each other for a moment, their eyes locked as if feeling each other out. There is a strange – almost sexual – tension there that is hard for anyone at the table, including Liz, to ignore.

 

“You could get more stopping power out of that if you switched from a clip point to a needlepoint,” Maze says, nodding towards the butterfly knife she packed away in her purse.

 

“Your handle is long enough for a blade-like that, and if you double serrate it … it’s gonna be real nice.”

 

Natalie shakes her head, amused by Maze’s persona.

 

“My intention is not to kill Ms. Smith.”

 

“It should be,” Maze says, “kill or be killed, right?”

 

Natalie smiles and continues to shake her head, starting to get used to Maze’s particular brand of comedy. At least, she thinks it’s all jokes.

 

Liz clears her throat, and they both turn to Liz and Maggie, having almost forgotten they were at the table with two other women.

 

Liz smiles, the attention now on her.

 

“We’ve been talking about ourselves all night long,” Liz says, speaking to Maze, “What about you? We didn’t really get the 411 on what makes _you_ tick.”

 

Maze grunts and reaches forward to pop a shrimp from her plate into her mouth.

 

She is slowly starting to regret her power play. It wasn’t worth sitting through this boring-ass conversation. The knife bit was the most interesting thing, everything else was … unabashedly human.

 

Maybe the Lieutenant wasn’t a demon after all.

 

Maze shrugs and shoves another fry into her mouth.

 

 “There’s no story to tell. I was born. Fought my way through the first days of Hell, met Lucifer and –“

 

“Lucifer?” Liz chuckles.

 

“Yes, we have a consultant named Lucifer,” Natalie says.

 

Liz guffaws, holding a hand to her chest, “My God. Who would name their kid Lucifer?”

 

Maze squints her eyes, finally deciding she does not like this Liz person at all.

 

“God,” Maze says flatly.

 

Liz’s smile falls as she realizes Maze is being serious. Not only being serious but looking at her as if she were imagining many different ways of torturing her.

 

“Right,” Liz says, her throat suddenly dry, “You … met a man named _Lucifer_ in … _Hell_.”

 

Maze nods.

 

Liz clears her throat, “I … I uhm, don’t know you or anything, but … have you ever considered seeing a therapist?”

 

“My best friend is a therapist,” Maze says unamused, “well, technically a psychologist, but I don’t quite understand the difference. You talk, she fixes you, the end.”

 

“Oh,” Liz replies.

 

Liz looks at Natalie, the look behind her eyes indicating she may be above her paygrade with her choice in girlfriend.

 

“Anyway,” Maze says, “you asked me about my history, so I told you. My world changed when I met Lucifer. He made life just a little bit more livable. I owe him everything.”

 

She pauses.

 

He was her best friend. He wasn’t perfect, and their relationship had mostly been that of a master and his servant, but … then he came to earth, and her world changed again. He was kinder, more willing to share the power than to wield it.

 

They were a team.

 

Lately, however, it’s been different. Lucifer has been so busy with everyone else he kind of forgot about Maze, she thinks.

 

She had hated Chloe at first for taking Lucifer’s interest from her. Then, she had come to like being independent, being her own demon. Then it felt like too much of a burden, to feel, to love.

 

Now she felt … now she felt.

 

“I …,” she says, trying to find a word for this strange new feeling inside of her. It weighs on her in a way she isn’t familiar with.

 

It reminds her of what it was like before Lucifer came to hell, when it was all just every demon for themselves. When her mother had long left her brood to extend her family elsewhere. When her brothers and sisters ate each other to prevent starvation. When there was no sun or sleep, or _reprieve_ from and endless world of violence and suffering.

 

She supposes she hadn’t really had the time or desire to process that. It was always from one thing to another, but … with Lucifer gone and bounty hunting gone all she had was time.

 

She turns to Natalie.

 

Perhaps that is why she had been so keen on discovering Natalie as a demon. To have that comradery, something to … _bond_ over.

 

Hell was not like she wanted it to be, but perhaps earth wasn’t either.

 

It reminds her of how she felt when Amenadiel left her.

 

Felt. There was that word again.

 

Why was she even feeling anything? Especially … what is this? 

 

“It didn’t seem to be a problem while it was happening,” Maze says to herself, her eyes staring at the plate, sorting out her words like pulling a thread from a sweater, but in total darkness.

 

“but looking back, it was … hard,” she says, her eyes turning to meet Liz’s, “Everyone was cold and heartless. My own mother had very little interest in me or my siblings for that matter.”

 

 _She had no reason for life_ , she thinks, _no purpose or plan only survival._

 

She was … lost. Lucifer had given her a purpose, but now that he was doing his own thing … now that she had freedom and stability … what _was_ her purpose?

 

 

Maze stares out into nothingness, these thoughts roaming through her mind. She sits back in her seat and crosses her arms, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

Natalie and Maggie look at one another, their eyes soft and their lips pursed, understanding that feeling way too much. Natalie nods.

 

She hadn’t considered Maze might be the way she is because of childhood trauma. She supposed it made sense. At least her old therapist would have told her that. She looks at Maggie, the memories coming back to her as she does.

 

“Maggie and I grew up in St. Meredith’s,” Natalie says, turning her head to Maze, looking to offer her the best she can in condolences.

 

 “I arrived when I was eight and … I didn’t leave until I was eighteen. I aged out of the system, and then suddenly I was on my own.”

 

Maggie nods, her eyes plastered to the plate of food in front of her, reliving her own experiences.

 

“They say the older you get as a ward of the state, the harder you are to adopt,” she says.

 

“I remember I used to get so _jealous_ that kids younger than me would come in and spend weeks, if not days there,” Maggie continues, “Then one day I wouldn’t see them on the bus, or on the playground and I would just know. Just know that they had found a home. They had found a home, and I was still there.”

 

Maggie scoffs and looks up at Natalie. They stare at one another, sharing more memories in their eyes, one that reveals a tight bond they had forgotten they had.

 

“There were too many of us who became an adult in the system,” Natalie says, turning back to Maze.

 

“It’s not fun, and it doesn’t make for great childhood memories. I don’t have stories of family reunions, or birthdays or Christmas, but …. we learn very early on that family is who you make them.”

 

Natalie smiles to herself, “It’s not often we are lucky enough to find decent people,” she says, “and when we do have to hold onto them no matter what.”

 

Natalie pauses, her smile falling as something dawns on her.

 

She scoffs.

 

“Fuck,” Natalie says, turning back to her wine, “I think I just convinced myself to go to your wedding.”

 

She grabs the glass and downs the rest of the wine in one gulp.

 

Maggie bursts out into laughter, causing Natalie to smile. She chuckles too, and both women laugh to themselves while Liz smiles. Whatever moment they are sharing, it is clear Liz doesn’t share it herself.

 

Maze stares forward, the lightness of the moment not lost on her, but also not affecting her.

 

The waiter comes up with the check and sets it on the table right in from of Maze. Her eyes snap to it, and her mind clears. She looks at the check, then up to the waiter, and looks at him as if offended.

 

Did she really look like she was the one _paying_?

 

Natalie reaches a hand over and slides the check towards herself.

 

Liz reaches her hand out and places it on top of Natalie’s hand.

 

“I got it,” she says, sliding the check out from beneath her hands.

 

Both Natalie and Maze pause, noticing the way Liz caresses Natalie’s hand before pulling it back.

 

“We invited you both. After all, it’s only fair we pay.”

 

“Thank you,” Natalie says to Liz.

 

Liz smiles and opens her purse to pull out the card. She starts to enter a tip.

 

“So, can I put you down as a plus one?” Liz asks.

 

“Pardon?” Natalie says, taking a sip of her wine.

 

Liz looks up at her and pauses writing. She slouches.

 

“You’re fucking with me, right?” she says.

 

“Doesn’t drink, but she curses like a sailor,” Maze says pleased.

 

“The wedding,” Maggie clarifies.

 

“Oh,” Nat says, turning to Maze, “I uhm … I don’t think Ms. Smith and I are at that point in our relationship where-“

 

“Open bar?” Maze asks.

 

Liz turns to Maze and smiles.

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there will be.”

 

“I’ll be there,” Maze says.

 

Natalie shakes her head, “Ms. Smith I don’t believe-“

 

“You said yourself you’re going,” Maze interrupts, “I can’t let you go by yourself.”

 

Liz turns to the waiter and hands him the check. She smiles at him and turns back to the conversation.

 

“You can and _you will_ ,” Natalie says, a sternness in her eyes.

 

Maze smiles and places a hand on Natalie’s thigh. Natalie’s eyes snap to it, the anger dissipating into great discomfort.

 

“Sweetie, Babe, _Sugar_ …,” Maze says, trying to find all the disgustingly affectionate words she can think of.

 

“Please stop,” Natalie says, an annoyance in her tone.

 

It’s unsure whether she is talking about the horrifying words coming out of Maze’s mouth, or the hand on her thigh. It could - quite possibly - be both.

 

“I would never leave your side. I mean, it’s not like I have a _job_ to go to or anything.” Maze says.

 

Natalie narrows her eyes, understanding the game Maze is playing now.

 

She chuckles to herself, her laugh filled with understanding and astonishment. Maze’s nods, understanding that Natalie now understands.

 

“Okay,” Natalie says, ready to play the game.

 

She takes Maze’s hand and pushes it off her leg, “Plus one, then.”

 

Liz smiles, “Excellent.”

 

\--

 

The elevator dings and Chloe steps out into Lucifer’s penthouse. She wears a loose t-shirt and loose pants. Something comfortable enough to take off quickly but comfortable enough to put back on with no underwear. Even while looking simple, the smile on her face is enough to catch Lucifer’s attention, despite his brooding on the balcony.

 

She steps into the penthouse, and her eyes immediately go to the plates of food set out on the coffee table. The metal lids are off, and it's clear the food has been half-eaten.

 

Her smile falls as she approaches it.

 

“My apologies, Detective,” she hears Lucifer say.

 

She looks out towards the balcony to see his form sitting, hunched over in a chair facing the cityscape. He speaks but doesn’t turn to her.

 

She smiles softly and approaches the balcony door, “It looks like you started without me. I hope that was the _only_ thing you thought would be best without me,” she says, a playfulness in her voice.

 

“It seems my brother decided to pay me a visit, and on today of all days,” Lucifer says, scoffing.

 

She reaches the balcony, and he turns to her, a sad blue to his eyes. She pauses, and the smile falls off her face.

 

If she had to admit it to herself, she was drained by his emotional turmoil. But she was at least happy to see he wasn’t angry. Sadness she could work with, but when he was _angry_ …

 

“At least I managed to save this,” he says, holding out the small white container in his hands.

 

She approaches and grabs it before popping it open. A small smile comes to her face.

 

“Lemon bars,” she says softly.

 

He nods and turns back to the city.

 

“I wanted tonight to be perfect for you,” he says.

 

She moves and sits in the chair next to him before ripping off a piece of the lemon bar and putting it into her mouth and chewing.

 

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, smiling, “I’ve had worst dates.”

 

He scoffs, “It’s not about the date, Detective. It’s about you and me.”

 

She furrows her eyebrows and closes the container before leaning forward and setting in on the small glass table in front of her.

 

“What do you mean?” she says, dusting the powdered sugar off her hands, then off her pants.

 

“I … I tried so hard to make tonight as _normal_ as possible. To make you forget about all the celestial _nonsense_ you’ve had to deal with. Maybe even to prove to myself that it was possible, that _we_ were possible.”

 

“It’s just dinner,” Chloe says, an annoyance developing in her voice at how hard he is taking this.

 

“It’s not,” he says, turning to her, “Don’t you see? You keep asking me if it will get better, if it will stop being so frantic and …”

 

“A mindfuck,” she says.

 

“Yes, for lack of a better word. And I keep-“

 

“Ignoring me,” she says, her words flat now.

 

He shakes his head, a regret in his face, “No, never. I would _never_ ignore you, Detective. It’s just this, _right now_ , might be the best it will ever be. Even on the verge of changing, of the world ending, of free souls and prophecies … this is the best it will get.”

 

She nods to herself. She didn’t know what to expect when she asked, she had hoped it would get better, but realistically she knew it couldn’t.

 

She looks down at the container on the table and smiles. She reaches out for it and leans back in the chair.

 

“Well,” she says, sliding her shoes off and pulling her legs up into the chair before crossing them.

 

“I may not have dinner, but at least I have you,” she says with a smile.

 

“Yes, but for how long? He asks.

 

She turns to him and pauses.

 

“Oh,” she says, “I was talking to the lemon bars.”

 

He looks at her, watching the smile crack in the corner of her mouth. He exhales, an amused grunt on the end of his breath.

 

She tears off another piece of the bar and eats it in happy silence.

 

He shakes his head, “You are good and kind, and … selfless to a fault, Detective.”

 

He looks at her with sadness still canvassed across his face.

 

“You deserve better,” he says.

 

She nods and pulls a piece of her lemon bar off before tossing it into her mouth.

 

She chews for a second while thinking.

 

“And what do you _deserve_?” she asks, turning to him.

 

His eyes cast downward, she can see him thinking about. Then his eyebrows furrow when he doesn’t find an answer, or at least the answer he does find isn’t the one he wants.

 

“I think this evening turned out lovely,” she says with a smile.

 

 “I have you, an empty penthouse … a snack,”

 

“I worked so hard to make everything perfect,” he says.

 

“And your effort is noticed,” she says, “but you and I …we aren’t normal. You’re _the devil_ , and I’m human that has died and spoken to God.”

 

She scoffs, the humor in her predicament not lost on her.

 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stares forward into the cityscape. His silence usually equates to sadness or rage, but she feels something else from him now.

 

Introspection. He wasn’t sad or angry he was … thinking. He was allowing his mind to wander.

 

She peels off another piece of her lemon bar and put it in her mouth.

 

“I don’t want to be normal anyway,” she says, continuing to fill the silence with her voice, “Can you imagine? Life was so … _boring_ before I had definitive proof that you existed. Now I do. It’s just … it’s hard to look at anyone without seeing everything else. Demons, Angels, Souls, God.”

 

He turns to her, the blue fading his eyes.

 

“You told me you couldn’t go back, you remember?” she asks.

 

He nods.

 

“Well, neither can I. I can’t go back to normal life, Lucifer. Face it, you’re kind of stuck with me,” she says with a smile, tossing another piece of the lemon bar into her mouth.

 

He scoffs again, an amused scoff, before shaking his head again and turning back to the cityscape.

 

They sit in silence again until eventually, she shrugs.

 

“So, who gives a _shit_ about steak?” she asks.

 

He chuckles and leans back in his seat.

 

“I paid good money for those steaks Detective. I had them flown in from Japan.”

 

She shrugs, “You can afford it.”

 

He laughs loudly. It’s carefree and light. She sticks another lemon bar piece into her mouth.

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a few moments.

 

“Thank you,” she says.

 

He turns to her, inquisitive about what he had done to deserve thanks.

 

“For trying,” she says, “it means a lot to me.”

 

He nods and smiles.

 

“Anytime, Detective,” he says.

 

They look at each other for a moment, and his smile falls.

 

“Unfortunately, I believe the lemon bars will be your only dessert this evening. I attempted to … _self-soothe_ before your arrival to no avail.”

 

She smiles, “Self-soothe?”

 

“Yes, Masturbate,”

 

She chuckles.

 

“I know what you meant, I just … found it funny the way you said it.”

 

“Mm,” he hums, acknowledging her as he turns back to the city.

 

Back into introspection.

 

Here they sit for what seems like forever. Silently enjoying each other’s company as she tears off small squares of the lemon bar and puts it in her mouth.

 

 “It’s okay. I like spending time with you,” she says, not turning to look at him, as if afraid of what he might say.

 

“You do?” he asks.

 

She nods.

 

“You’re my friend,” she says with a smile before pausing.

 

She thinks about it for a second, and her eyebrows furrow.

 

“Actually, I think you’re my _best_ friend. Wow, I _really_ need to get out more.”

 

He chuckles, and she smiles. His smile falls, and he looks back out to the city. They sit in silence for a moment.

 

“I believe you to be my best friend too, Detective,” he says, thinking about it, “Well, outside of Mazikeen, of course.”

 

“I don’t have to be, you don’t have to say that.”

 

“I know, but I mean it. I wouldn’t say something that I don’t mean,” he says.

 

She smiles and breaks off another small piece of her lemon bar.

 

“May I?” he says, pointing towards the lemon bar.

 

She smiles and shakes her head, “Nuh-uh. These are mine.”

 

He grins and reaches his arms out, hooking his hands around the arm of the chair and pulling it closer.

 

The chair scrapes against the concrete of the balcony and jerks Chloe. She holds onto her lemon bars and laughs.

 

“Lucifer!” she says.

 

He pulls her chair close until it touches his own.

 

“I paid for them, Detective,” he says with a grin.

 

“But you gave them to _me_!” she says.

 

He reaches for them, and she turns in the other direction, holding them away.

 

He reaches out and wraps his arms around her, aiming for the container.

 

She laughs and playfully bites his arm.

 

He grabs the container, and it cracks beneath the pressure of his grip.

 

“You’re going to break it!” she screams, her words broken up by her laughter.

 

“I just want a piece!” he says in feigned anger.

 

“Okay, okay,” she says, batting his hand away.

 

He retracts his arm, and she turns to him. He sits with a pleased grin on his face.

 

She breaks off a piece of the lemon bar and turns to him before sticking it in his mouth.

 

He chews and smiles.

 

“Happy?” she asks, feigning annoyance.

 

“ _Very_ ,” he says, turning back to the cityscape.

 

\--

 

Outside on the sidewalk outside of the fancy restaurant, Maggie, Liz, Natalie, and Maze – in that order - pour out onto the street.

 

Liz and Maggie are laughing and enjoying themselves while Natalie and Maze are less than amused. Maze looks bored and fiddles on her phone, no doubt texting a booty call – or perhaps Ella. Natalie seems worried.

 

Maggie walks ahead and gives a ticket to the valet. He nods and heads off to get her car.

 

“Oh,” Liz says with a contented sigh as she turns to Natalie.

 

 “It was so nice catching up with you tonight, Nat.”

 

She turns her attention to Maze, “And it was nice meeting you, Maze! I’m so glad that Natalie _finally_ found someone she can keep up with.”

 

 _Finally found_ , Natalie says to herself.

 

Somehow that stings more than it should.

 

“I can’t wait to see you two cut up on the dancefloor,” Liz says.

 

Maze shakes her head, “Nah, not a dancer.”

 

“Yeah, you know I don’t dance,” says Natalie.

 

“Oh, you say that now,” Liz says with a smile, “but when that wine and music hits …”

 

Maze rolls her eyes and sticks the phone into her pocket.

 

“We don’t dance,” Maze says, her voice stern.

 

Liz pauses, and Natalie’s eyebrows raise.

 

Liz nods to herself, “Well …” she says.

 

They stand in silence for a while until the valet returns with their car, and Maggie turns to them and nods.

 

“Nat,” she says.

 

“Maggie,” Natalie nods.

 

They wave, and Liz and Maggie walk to their car.

 

On the way there, Liz turns to Maggie and whispers, “They’re like the _same_ person.”

 

The valet runs up to Natalie, and Natalie hands him her ticket.

 

“Be right back with your car,” he says as he walks off towards a parking garage.

 

“Well, that was … painful,” Maze says.

 

Natalie turns to her, a small smile on her face.

 

“You must have come to L.A. to be an actor Ms. Smith because you did a very convincing job as my love interest.”

 

Maze looks at her, her eyes narrowed,” Why did you two _really_ break up?” Maze asks.

 

Natalie smiles, then turns her head with a smile as she looks off towards the parking garage. She had no intention of furthering a conversation with Maze. In fact, this small talk right now was out of her comfort zone.

 

“I’m just curious. She’s literally the worst person I’ve ever met, and I’m a demon. I’ve met a lot of horrible humans.”

 

Natalie nods and crosses her arms.

 

“We all have our own crutches,” Natalie says, ignoring the fact that Maze insists on referring to herself as a demon.

 

That was not a conversation to be had with her, perhaps her friend – the therapist.

 

“Liz was …,” Natalie pauses, wanting to know if she could even admit it to herself.

 

Liz was the first person she had ever truly loved. The first person that had ever truly loved her. She wasn’t perfect. She came from a different world than Natalie did, but she made Natalie feel things she never thought she would.

 

Things like vulnerability, the softness she didn’t know she had.

 

Furthermore, Liz made it _okay_ to feel vulnerable.

 

Natalie turns her eyes to a waiting Maze.

 

“Liz was …” she says, trying to say it out loud.

 

Maze’s eyes narrow as Natalie’s eyes fall to the ground, thinking. There, she sees it again. It’s momentary and brief, but it’s there. Her human side. She was _definitely_ human.

 

Maze scoffs, realizing what Natalie is trying to say.

 

“She was your first,” Maze says.

 

Natalie looks at her, pauses, then nods.

 

“In many ways, yes,” Natalie says.

 

“You’re not really going to her wedding, are you?”

 

Natalie has the look of uncertainty behind her eyes; thinking.

 

“You must have a penchant for pain,” Maze says, “there’s no way- “

 

“Life is complicated, Ms. Smith,” Natalie finally says, “Sometimes the easiest thing to do is just … let it happen. The more fight we put up, the harder it is to stay above water.”

 

“You have a different idea of life than I do then,” she says, “Fighting is the best part.”

 

“Mmm,” Natalie says, nodding, “Perhaps.”

 

She sees her valet turn the corner down the street and drive towards her.

 

“Listen,” she says, turning to Maze, “You did me a favor tonight. I was … floundering pretty hard, and the night could have gone a completely different direction had you not showed up.”

 

Maze crosses her arms, “You’re welcome. Do you know how you can repay me?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, a small smile peeling into the corners, almost unnoticeable.

 

“I can’t get you recertified.”

 

“Oh, _come on_ ,” she says, uncrossing her arms.

 

She had sat through that _entire_ dinner without threatening – at least verbally – to torture Liz.

 

 “What’s the point of being the big boss if you can’t break any of the rules?”

 

“First,” Natalie says, “I’m _not_ the big boss. I’m a low-level boss at best. Second, do you know why I am such a stickler for rules?” Natalie says

 

“Lack of sex would be my guess,” Maze says.

 

Natalie chuckles a little too hard at that, and Maze furrows her eyebrows. It was laughable, that idea, to Natalie.

 

“My job is to ensure that my department runs smoothly,” she says, “that means, everyone follows the proper procedures and tasks are done accordingly. That way, when we do catch the bad guy, he doesn’t walk free.”

 

Maze rolls her eyes.

 

“I dated a defense attorney for five years. I know how this works. Anything they can grab onto to discredit an investigation, they will.”

 

Natalie shakes her head.

 

“I’ve worked very hard to get where I am so I could make the life of others, in their most … vulnerable moments just a little less painful,” she says, before turning to Maze.

 

“So, if it seems like I’m nitpicking about rules, it’s because I never want to have to question whether I made the right choice.  I do it so that people don’t get hurt,” she continues “or left behind.”

 

“We’re not an orphanage,” Maze says, “We can handle ourselves just fine.”

 

Natalie pauses, the weight of that comment sitting more with her than it should. She stands there, nodding to herself and thinking. Then, she turns to Maze.

 

“Maybe. But in many ways, you are,” she says.

 

Natalie turns just as her car pulls up beside them.

 

“Well,” she says, “Thank you for a … _less than_ disastrous evening. I look forward to our very public breakup Ms. Smith. Please note I _will_ be seeking full custody of our dog.”

 

Maze furrows her eyebrows.

 

“Is that a joke?” she asks, almost shocked at Natalie’s attempt humor.

 

Natalie smiles, “Of course. Do I _look_ like a dog person?” she says as she walks around the front of her car and thanks the valet.

 

She gets into her car and shuts the door before buckling her seatbelt and driving off.

 

Maze watches her, an intrigue in her eyes that extends past wanting to know what she is afraid of. Wanting to find an angle she can use to make her turn a blind eye to the certification.

 

Behind it lays something else, an actual interest in her as a person.

 

“No, you do not,” she says to herself, almost impressed.

 

\--

 

On his balcony, Lucifer and Chloe sit comfortably in chairs facing out towards downtown Los Angeles.

 

She has her shoes off, and her legs crossed beneath her in the chair. The container of lemon bars sits open and cradled in her lap as she continues to pick pieces off to put in her mouth.

 

Lucifer nurses a glass of whiskey.

 

“Mm,” he says, as If remembering something as he swallows a gulp.

 

He turns and sets the glass on the table next to him.

 

“You should have seen your face, Detective,” he says, chuckling, “You were so angry.”

 

She smiles, “You would be too. I thought you were going to show me something important, and you just were standing there like you were about to shit yourself.”

 

He laughs, and she shakes her head.

 

“Well, I was going to show you something important. I was going to show you my Devil Face, wasn’t I?”

 

“You said that, but all I kept thinking was … he’s going to shit himself, and it’s going to be awkward for _both_ of us.”

 

He laughs and brings the glass up to his mouth to take a sip.

 

She smiles and looks down as she breaks another piece off her lemon bar.

 

They sit again in a comfortable silence.

 

He stares off into city, his smile slowly fading. His eyes turn to her and look her over for a second before turning back to the city. He takes another sip, but this one feels less joyous and more … heavy.

 

“What if it never happens?” he asks, his eyes moving cautiously to hers, “would you … “

 

He trails off, not knowing how he should finish that sentence.

 

She looks up at him and watches him for a second before looking back at her hands. She starts to fiddle with her lemon bar as she chews.

 

“It will,” she says assuredly as if she knew in her heart of hearts it would.

 

He nods to himself, a little unsure. It seemed all out of his control, it felt like he was losing control of everything, even down to his erections. Everything had been taken from him, and the powerlessness of it all made him feel afraid.

 

She needed someone who was strong, who could protect her. She deserved the version of him that was confident and defiant, and … the Lucifer she fell in love with.

 

She looks back to him, watching as he stares out into nothingness. Despite their conversations all day, she could feel a silence in him. Now she sees it, him staring out into the expanse of the city, but his mind clearly somewhere else.

 

It worries her. He has never been the silent type. Even when averting her questions and avoiding confronting how they felt for each other, he was loud and boisterous. Anything to divert from the truth. Now, however, he was silent.

 

She clears her throat and slowly breaks off another piece of her lemon bar.

 

“Is this the, uhm, longest you’ve gone without sex?” she asks, turning to him as she puts another lemon bar piece in her mouth.

 

He thinks about it for a moment.

 

“After coming to earth, I mean,” she says, between chewing.

 

He nods, “I believe it is.”

 

“Mm,” she hums in acknowledgment.

 

“What about you?” he asks, “what was your longest time between sexual experiences.”

 

She thinks for a moment, “Uhm a year and a half, I think,” she says, carefully brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“A year?!” he asks, shock on his face.

 

“And a half,” she says with a smile.

 

“Detective, I don’t know how you managed to have such a long dry spell, but I hope we don’t wait a year and a half.”

 

She chuckles, “Well, considering you usually end up in bed with women the _night_ you meet them, I think we already have waited a year and a half.”

 

“Excellent point,” he says, tilting his head as if impressed, “and the second I get this whole thing sorted, you and I are going to have a proper date. Then we will come back here and completely _ravish_ each other, yes?”

 

She smiles and pops a piece of the lemon bar into her mouth, “Is that so?” she asks.

 

“That’s a promise,” he says.

 

She smiles and turns her eyes back to the container in her lap.

 

“It’s okay to be nervous,” she says.

 

He turns to her, his eyebrows furrowing.

 

_Why do people keep saying that?_

 

She looks up at him and sees the confusion and offense behind his eyes.

 

“If I tell you something, will you … promise not to say anything?” she asks.

 

He tilts his head, the confusion and offense falling to intrigue.

 

“A secret? Why, of course, Detective. Do tell.”

 

She nods and pinches off another piece of the lemon bar.

 

“When Dan and I were together, and early on in the relationship, we were just beat cops.  We made a decent wage, nothing to write home about. But then he saw an opening for Detective and … well, we needed the money, and it was much safer than patrolling so, he went for it.”

 

“Why didn’t you apply?” he asks.

 

She smiles, “Who says I didn’t?”

 

Lucifer nods in approval and takes a sip of his whiskey, his full attention on her.

 

She puts a piece of the lemon bar in her mouth and chews as she speaks.

 

“Anyway, he had his interview, but we had to wait two weeks until we knew whether he got the job. He was so nervous and so … anxious during those two weeks that we didn’t have sex. He couldn’t.”

 

Lucifer tilts his head, “Daniel had performance issues? I suppose that explains the douchiness,”

 

She rolls her eyes, “He was nervous. We went from having sex two, three times a week to zero in two weeks.

 

“Only three times a week?” Lucifer asks, his eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Oh, stop it,” she says, pushing her shoulder against his.

 

“ _The point is_ ,” she says, trying to get back on track, “He was so worked up about getting the job, and making more money and what it would mean for us, that it became difficult to focus on anything else. Especially sex.”

 

“Hmm,” Lucifer grunts, gathering that she is trying to illustrate how Daniel’s issue might be tied to his own.

 

“So, how did he fix it?” he asks, curiously.

 

“Two weeks later, he got pulled into the Lieutenants office,” she says, “and was congratulated on his promotion. We celebrated that night with a bottle of wine and … well… let’s just say it wasn’t an issue for him anymore.”

 

“You had sex?” he asks.

 

She chuckles and tears off another piece of her lemon bar, “Oh yeah. Big time.”

 

“Mmm,” Lucifer says, turning back to the city.

 

Maybe he _was_ nervous? Maybe he was focusing too much on what sex with the Detective might be like, or what it might mean. Sex never had meaning before, but now that it does …

 

He’s curious to know what that meaning might say about him, about her, about … _them._

 

_Damn. Maybe Dr. Martin was right._

 

He furrows his eyebrows, “I’m starting to think I should pay more attention to what Dr. Martin has to say.”

 

Chloe laughs at what she considers to be a random statement.

 

Her phone dings, and she brushes the powered sugar off her hand before reaching into her pocket. She looks at the phone, and her legs come out from under her.

 

“That would be my queue to go,” she says, grabbing the container and setting it to the side as she stands up.

 

Lucifer sits forward as she stands.

 

“It is?” he asks, implying he wants her to stay.

 

“It is,” she says firmly, “I promised Trixie I’d tuck her in tonight, and the babysitter isn’t going to stay with her much longer.”

 

He nods and stands. She grabs the container of lemon bars and walks into the living room, Lucifer following her like a puppy.

 

“Oh! I called the number from Fred’s phone and got a man who told us he’d speak with us tomorrow,” she says, as she heads towards the elevator.

 

“So, I’ll come to pick you up in the morning, yeah? Unless you have any more souls you need to collect.”

 

She pauses.

 

It’s odd how _used_ she was getting to the weirdness of dating an _actual_ angel.

 

“I believe all of our celestial interferences are done for the moment, Detective,” he says with a smile, “Well, at least for now. You know things tend to _pop_ up.”

 

She smiles and leans on her tippy toes to kiss him. It’s soft and sweet yet soul-filling.

 

“At least some things,” he says as she pulls away from him.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says as she steps into the elevator.

 

The doors close behind her, and Lucifer sighs. He turns to the plates of food on the coffee table and grunts.

 

He was nervous. That’s all it is, nerves.

 

Nervous that it would get worse before it got better.

 

Nervous that there was a point in which she’d think it wasn’t worth it; he wasn’t worth it.

 

Yet she was still here. She said she would always be here, and he had no reason to not believe her.

 

 _It was nerves, of course,_ he thinks, chuckling to himself.

 

The detective _would_ be the only woman to make the Devil nervous.

 

It was silly, really.

 

_What did he have to be nervous about?_

 

 

\--

 

It’s nighttime at a large worksite a few blocks away from LUX. The steel frame of a new structure is in place, but the ground is still just dirt. Pallets of wood and metal sit around waiting for workers to arrive the next day.

 

In a security trailer near a chain-link gate, a man sits watching a sitcom on a laptop. The laptop sits in front of a row of CCTV feeds, and he sips on lukewarm noodles with his feet up on the table.

 

He laughs to himself, the laugh track on the television backing him up. He reaches down to pull a fork full of noodles to his face.

 

Outside, the worksite is still, but it isn’t quiet. Cars drive by on nearby roads, and homeless dogs bark in the distance.

 

Suddenly, almost too suddenly, a large and fast ball of light flies between buildings and lands in the center of a dirt pit at the base of the steel tower. It hits the ground with an impact that shakes the worksite enough to cause the guard in the shack to pause.

 

He turns his eyes to the CCTV feeds and sees nothing out of the ordinary. He leans forward, setting his feet on the ground and peeks out the window of the shack. Still, he sees nothing. He slowly puts his foot back onto the table and goes for another bite of noodles, his focus back on the sitcom.

 

Outside, in the crater left by the impact, fiery embers stick to now loosened soil. The embers heat the dirt until it turns into hot glowing balls of earth. The balls coalesce and become hotter until this ball of fire begins to squirm. It moves enough that the dirt on the edges of the crater starts to fall into the ball. It too begins to feed this small ball of heat, making it bigger and larger until the bottom of the crater is full of a hot molten liquid.

 

Inside the trailer, the guard chuckles loudly as he chews. The laugh track on the sitcom backing him and only adding to his enjoyment. He briefly glances at the CCTV’s before looking back at the sitcom.

 

He forks another bite of noodles into his mouth.

 

Inside the pit, the molten ball begins to spin and twirl. A thin protrusion begins to rise from it, like a cobra being charmed from a basket. It is followed by four more thin protrusions. These turn into molten fingers as a wrist begins to pull itself from the ball, then an arm.

 

The hot molten arm raises up, clawing towards the sky before slamming down onto the ground and grabbing a chunk of ground just outside of the crater. The dirt sizzles the second the hand makes contact. It claws at the ground, slowly pulling itself out of the crater.

 

The ball continues to spin as more and more dirt collapses into the liquefied earth, making the ball bigger. Then, a large chunk rises from the arms – a shoulder- followed by another.

 

Eventually, these turn into a neck and a head.

 

The ball keeps spinning, again more dirt being pulled into it like the flour on the side of a mixing bowl. The arm keeps grappling at the ground and pulling until a second arm slaps on the ground – again searing the dirt beneath it.

 

Inside the trailer, the guard smiles while watching the sitcom. He brings a bite of noodles to his face and chomps down right as something really funny happens in the show. He lets out a howl of laughter that sends noodles all over the wall and his laptop.

 

“Shit,” he says as he scoots back, trying to keep the broth from falling between his keys.

 

He leans over and grabs a set of brown paper towels by the window. He unrolls a section and pulls it off before wiping down his keys. He is wiping when out the corner of his eyes, something strange catches his eyes.

 

Back at the crater, a now fully formed torso of a being is dragging itself from the squirming pile of heat in the crater. Its eyes are spinning balls of fire that are neither open nor closed.  The fingers start to cool as skin begins to form. It is soft and pink, but translucent as fire spins inside, and the tips harden into nails.

 

Both arms now formed, the being works hard to pull itself free from the taffy-like ball of fire that has stopped growing in the crater. The remainder of this being must come from whatever is there as the dirt stops falling in – as if knowing it wasn’t needed. The arms begin to cool, and small, thin filaments of hair begin to grow from the pores.

 

Inside the trailer, the guard leans forward, trying to figure out what he is looking at. It looks like someone was crawling on the ground in the worksite.

 

The laugh track of the video plays as he turns his eyes to the CCTV. He looks at the camera feed, unable to see the camera angle he wants on it. He turns and reaches forward before pressing a button, flipping between camera angles.

 

He can’t find one that centers on this area. It was a blind spot he wasn’t aware he had. He squints his eyes and turns to grab his flashlight and taser off the table before he swings open the door of this trailer and steps into the night air.

 

Back at the crater, the hands - now with dirt beneath the nails - continue to grasp and pull as a pelvis forms, followed by a nub that droops and flops from it. Whatever it is, it’s a boy.

 

The face, neck, and shoulder begin to cool, and light brown hair begins to sprout like grass from the skull. It’s thick and healthy and effortlessly curly. The eyelids form over the cooling eyes.

 

They open, but there is nothing there. It is clear that whoever this intends to be, the spirit is not there yet. The hands continue to pull and grasp, leaving scorched earth in its wake. Soon, thighs emerge as the torso cools, then calf’s.

 

The molten pool comes to an end as it is spent and used up on forming toes for this being.

 

Once out of the crater completely, the being rolls over onto its back and lays there, its ankles and feet cooling from a hot molten glow to a soft pink fleshy tone; small foot hairs begin to emerge.

 

Nearby, the guard approaches, a flashlight swinging from left to right. He walks around a pallet of metal pipes to see a nude man lying face up at the edge of the crater.

 

“Hey,” he says, pausing, not sure if he is about to find a dumped body.

 

The man doesn’t respond. He just lays there, eyes closed and clearly not breathing.

 

The guard stands there for a moment, unsure of what to do.

 

He shines the flashlight on the body, trying to gauge if he really wants to get closer.

 

“Sir?” he asks, a shakiness in his voice.

 

He doesn’t think he’s prepared to deal with discovering a body.

 

Suddenly, the man sits up fully in one big spring of energy. Its eyes open and takes in a large gasp of air. His eyes fade from a light blue mist to a rich brown.

 

This gasp is followed by a scream and cry as every nerve in his body processes the pain of its blistering birth in one go.

 

The scream is bloody and runs his throat raw.

 

The guard jumps back, aiming his taser at the ready.

 

The man inhales deeply then collapses back on the ground, squirming in pain. He cries, trying to breathe between the pain as every nerve in his body snaps to life. Connecting and calibrating all in one go. His arms and limbs jump and pop painfully as each new connection is tested. The fire in his veins slowly cools, and he stops squirming.

 

“Sir, are you okay?” the guard asks finally, his stance still defensive.

 

The man lays there, tears flowing from his face and a soft whimper escaping his lips. When he catches his breath, he opens his eyes again.  He turns to the beam of light in his face, his hearing slowly coming into existence. He reaches up and places a hand over his ears, his eyes squinting in the direct light.

 

“Do you need me to call an ambulance?” the guard asks.

 

The man starts to shiver. He is naked, and – despite climbing out of literal fire – he is cold. Every newly formed hair on his body stands on edge.  He leans forward and slowly stands, his new legs wobbly beneath his weight. He catches his balance and looks down at the scorched dirt. He turns to look at the guard who stares him down, still afraid and unsure.

 

He opens his mouth, his voice hoarse.

 

“W-“ he starts to say, the words struggling to come out.

 

“Whhheereeeee Amm I?” he says, elongating his words as his tongue doesn’t want to cooperate.

 

The guard looks at him oddly and slowly lowers his flashlight.

 

“Did you hit your head?” he asks, his eyes moving down his new form, trying to piece together why he is naked.

 

“Weehreee Am I? the man says again as he stumbles forward.

 

He falls forward, catching himself with his hands. Shakily he pushes himself back up.

 

“Los Angeles,” the guard says, walking forward with his hands held out, wanting to steady the man.

 

“Are you lost?” the guard says.

 

Los Angeles, he thinks, turning to survey the site.

 

Not this again.

 

He looks up to the sky and stretches his arms as he leans backwards. He stumbles a bit before catching himself.

 

“Why?” he wails, tears coming to his eyes.

 

The guard sets his taser to his side and continues to walk forward.

 

“I can see you’re going through a lot,” the guard says, “You want to come into my trailer? It’s warm there. We can call someone for you.”

 

The man starts to weep. He crosses his arms forward, holding himself, cowering. He was cold and naked and uncomfortable in this existence.

 

He looks up at the guard whose eyes are furrowed in pity. He doesn’t know what is going on with this man, but it’s clear he needed help.

 

“Why?” the man asks the guard, his tongue finally cooperating.

 

His question is light, and on the back of it rides an airiness that indicated emotional turmoil. His skin was cold, but so was he; he was alone and confused.

 

“Why would he do this to me?” he asks himself, staring at the scorch marks on the ground.

 

It wasn’t the first time he has seen them or felt this feeling, the frost of existence. Except this time, he had no answers.

 

This time he didn’t know what he was here for. There was no discussion, no planning, and no … guidance. It was just him, naked and cold in a worksite in L.A.

 

“Who?” the guard says, approaching him.

 

He sees the goosebumps developing on the man’s skin and sets his flashlight slowly on the ground. He slips his jacket off and offers it to the man, draping it across his back.

 

“I … I don’t understand,” he says, looking at the guard.

 

He turns his eyes back to the sky, “What do you want from me?” he yells.

 

“I did what you asked,” he continues, “Why can’t you just … leave me alone?!”

 

He looks around for a moment, searching for a response, a sign … a messenger; anyone. Instead, he is only met with the roar of passing cars and the gentle breathing of the man next to him.

 

He looks at the guard, tears behind his eyes.

 

“Why won’t God leave me alone?” he asks.

 

The man nods and leans down to pick up his flashlight.

 

“Come,” he says, nodding to the trailer, “let’s get you warm, and then we can go from there? Okay?”

 

The man doesn’t nod. He only lets his eyes drift into the corner of his mind, thinking, trying to come up with an answer that made sense.

 

What was his purpose? Why was he here?

 

He pulls the jacket tighter around his body, not finding an answer, finding his lack of knowing to be … numbing.

 

His stomach starts to grumble as his digestive system is hauled to life.

 

“And maybe some food,” the guard says, chuckling.

 

The man looks down, noticing the cross swinging from the guard’s necklace. He looks at the guard, hopeful that he is the answer.

 

“Did he tell you what he wanted me to do?” he asks, his voice timid, clutching to it like a grain of hope.

 

The guard looks at the man, his eyebrows furrowed. He turns down to the cross on his neck, noticing him looking.

 

“Oh,” he says, “I … I only wear it as a habit. I don’t actually believe it.”

 

The man turns his eyes to the ground, a saddened concern growing in his eyes.

 

The forlorn realization sitting in his bones.

 

 He was alone, left to his own devices. He didn’t know what that meant.

 

“What’s your name?” the guard asks, walking him slowly back towards the trailer.

 

The man is silent for a moment.

 

“Abel,” he says.

 

“Abel,” the guard says, “that’s an … interesting name.”

 

Abel looks at him, confusion behind his eyes.

 

What was he doing here? Why couldn’t he be left alone? He was finally okay, finally comfortable with himself. He had much time to think about his life, all of them. Before Hell, during hell, and after hell. He had time to think about it all, and he was finally okay with it.

 

He should have been left alone.

 

He was content where he was, at peace even. He wasn’t warring with any part of himself. It was as if everything bad that had happened to him had been lifted, split away, and stretched into every bit of the universe until it had slipped through the net that held everything together, like a grain of sand through a sieve.

 

And now, he was here. And he was cold and hungry.

 

He existed again, and he didn’t want to.

 

Why would he do this?

 

“Do you have someone you could call?” the guard asks.

 

Abel thinks for a moment as they walk. He had a lot of time to think, all he did was think when he was out there. When every piece of him had been pulled apart like shredded pork.

 

Yes, all he did was think. Think about her. About what could have been. He had wanted so badly to just live and be left alone, but his life – all of them – had been in the service of something else.

 

He had a glimpse of what it might be like, to just be. To decide what he wanted for himself, and it was … beautiful. She was beautiful and kind and warm. He wanted to know what it felt like to be viewed as something more than a victim or as vengeance incarnate. To have a choice, freedom.

 

He was not a good guy, no, and he had sat with that thought for what felt like an eternity. Thinking, only able to think.

 

All he could do was think.

 

Was he still the bad guy? How would he know if he had no direction?

 

“Yes,” he says finally, remembering the only number he had wanted to call all that time.

 

How long was he there?

 

“But I don’t think she will answer,” he says sadly.

 

They reach the trailer, and the guard opens the door.

 

“Well, first things first,” he says as Abel walks in.

 

The guard looks away as he steps up, trying to avoid staring directly into Abel’s asshole.

 

“Let’s get you some clothes and some food,” he says.

 

He enters and shuts the door behind him, sending the worksite into silence again.

 

 


	20. Home is where the heart is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Calmos comes to term with the truth of his existence, Natalie gets a text from an unknown number, Lucifer confronts God about Abel, Ezria draws a line in his own behaviour and Lucifer crawls into bed with Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is exceptionally smutty. You've been warned.
> 
> follow me for series updates at hrfiction.tumblr.com

 

The alley door to LUX bursts open, and Calmos stumbles out, clutching his chest and breathing hard. He stumbles over to the wall directly in front of him and leans against it. He tries to catch his breath, but there are too many questions flowing through his mind to concentrate on being calm.

 

Questions like, had father lied to him? 

 

Or were the Angels lying to him?

 

Why would they lie to him? Why would father lie to him? 

 

What was the truth? What was a lie? 

 

If Father had been lying, did he do so to protect Calmos? Or himself?

 

Did that mean his father loved him? Perhaps in his own unique way?

 

Or had he just been ashamed of Calmos? Of what he was.

 

If the angels were lying, did that mean Ezria didn’t care for him? He thought they were friends. He thought … was it stupid of him to believe they were friends?

 

A demon and an Angel.

 

Or is it a Halfling and an Angel?

 

_A halfling?_  

 

Did Father not call him a halfling during their fight? 

 

He sounded amused. He sounded  _disgusted_. 

 

Calmos  _feels_ disgusting. 

 

What will happen when the other demons find out?

 

Calmos had been so proud of his demon blood,  _strong_  demon blood as father called it. To think he also had human blood in him … it makes him nauseous.

 

Is that why he is so strange? So different? So …  _weak_?

 

He closes his eyes tightly, the world starting to spin around him.

 

Father wasn’t the greatest demon, but it was clear he didn’t care about much. He wouldn’t care to keep a secret like that.

 

No … no, this had to be a lie. This couldn’t be anything but a lie.

 

The angel had lied to him. Calmos had seen the true nature of the darkness in Ezria’s eyes. It wasn’t just anger; it was something else. 

 

It only made sense. It  _had_  to make sense.

 

Yes, it was all the angel’s fault. His world had been so closed and rational before the angel came. He was fine with his station, with his life.

 

The door opens behind him, and Ezria steps out into the alley. Calmos turns to him, anger rising in his veins. 

 

“Don’t get any closer!” Calmos yells.

 

Ezria stops in his tracks. Calmos is pressed up against the wall like a trapped animal.

 

Ezria raises his hands slowly as if indicating he had no weapon or no intention of harming Calmos.

 

“I should have known no good would come with speaking to you,” Calmos says.

 

“Pardon?” Ezria asks, his eyebrows furrowed in offense. 

 

What did Calmos being a halfling have to do with _him_?

 

“My mother was a crossroads demon,” Calmos says defiantly, “she died during the crusades. My father brought me to Hell and raised me as what I am … a  _proud_  demon.”

 

“Calmos,” Ezria starts.

 

“A  _proud demon_!” Calmos screams.

 

“Have you ever thought about what it might be like to be a crossroads Demon?” Ezria asks calmly.

 

“Of course,” Calmos says as if that were a dumb question.

 

All demons had wondered what it would be like.  _Right?_

 

“That is curiosity. A human Emotion,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos shakes his head. He doesn’t believe it.

 

“What about regrets? Have you ever done something you later wished you never did?”

 

Calmos shakes his head, not wanting to answer, but Ezria can see he has.

 

“That is guilt. A  _human_ emotion.”

 

Calmos continues to shake his head, “No …,” he says, his brain doing gymnastics to try and not land on the only logical conclusion.

 

“Are you getting it now?” Ezria states.

 

“it’s not true. You … you …,”

 

“Am I a liar?” Ezria asks, his eyes narrowing, wanting Calmos to say it. 

 

Calmos looks at Ezria as the dark ink starts to fade into his eyes. He gets the distinct feeling there is a boundary he is about to cross. The existential crises he is having is immediately replaced by fear. 

 

He didn’t know who this angel was anymore. Perhaps he had fooled himself into thinking he did, thinking they were friends, thinking that whatever made his eyes dark and the feeling behind his presence shift would never apply to him. 

 

But now he doesn’t know.

 

His world is turned upside down, and he didn’t know anymore.

 

“Why did you bring me here?” Calmos asks, his tone cautious.

 

Ezria doesn’t say anything. He just stares.

 

 “Answer me,” Ezria says.

 

“Was it to trap me here? Did you know?” Calmos asks, ignoring Ezria’s question as his voice rises.

 

Ezria starts to walk closer, his form imposing.

 

“Do you believe me to be a liar?” he asks, a finality behind his words. 

 

To Ezria, the answer is more important than whatever question Calmos is asking. There is a deep vibrato in his voice that makes the hairs on Calmos’ neck stand on edge. 

 

He doesn’t back down, though. 

 

He didn’t care. 

 

A halfling’s life wasn’t worth its weight in ash.

 

He  _needed_  to know. Was Ezria his friend? 

 

“I saw what you did with that man in the market. You  _made_ him take that food. I don’t know how but you did, I saw you. Did you do that to me? Get into my head?” Calmos asks, angrily.

 

Ezria furrows his eyebrows, not liking the direction of this conversation.

 

“Calmos, I’d be very careful-,” he begins.

 

Calmos stands tall, his eyes wide as words fall out of his mouth. The words in his mind are unfiltered and unplugged as he pours his heart out.

 

“Did you make me follow you to earth?” he asks, his voice rising, not even giving Ezria time to respond.

 

“You’ve been doing that to me the whole time, haven’t you? Getting inside my head. Making me do things for you. Making me … question myself. Making me …  _want_ you,” he says, his voice shaking with anger, with pain.

 

Ezria tilts his head.

 

_What?_  He asks himself,  _Want_?

 

Ezria shakes his head, not sure how to take this vomit of emotion, “I didn’t-“

 

“You made me  _trust_  you,” Calmos yells, the tears welling in his eyes. His words start to shake, to lose their anger.

 

He is close to breaking, to falling apart.

 

“You made you believe you were looking out for me, but you’re just like everyone else. You’re just like -“he continues.

 

“Enough!” Ezria growls loudly.

 

It jostles the world around Calmos. 

 

It reaches into him and shakes him. Clarity seeps into Calmos’ eyes only momentarily. Just long enough to stave it off, the mental breakdown he is close to. 

 

Ezria approaches closer to him, his movement slow but intentional. Calmos tries to push himself further into the wall. When he can’t he turns to move sideways, but by then, it’s too late. Ezria’s arms are on either side of his head, and Ezria’s face is mere inches from his. 

 

Calmos stares deep into the jet-black emptiness in Ezria’s eyes. 

 

He stares, falling deep into Ezria’s eyes. 

 

He stares until a shadow starts to engulf him. 

 

It feels like Ezria, the parts that lay outside of his form. The pieces that aren’t fastened by flesh or bone. The parts that ebb and flow like the current in a river, but outside of Ezria’s body. 

 

It’s a dark mist that floats around him and engulfs Calmos. Ezria was an angel, that was a fact, but this mist felt less than angelic. 

 

He should be afraid. He knows this mist is bad. 

 

In it, he can see a darkness that feels secretive, unknown to anyone but Ezria and now him.

 

He should feel terrified, but Calmos gets the distinct feeling this is on purpose. Ezria was showing himself, all of him and offering Calmos a peek.

 

Ezria stands there, staring at Calmos and watching him fall deep into the darkness in his eyes. Suddenly, the anger in Ezria’s eyes evaporates, and behind it only lays interest.

 

There is a silence between them, a stillness that only makes it feel like soon there would be sound, an overwhelming noise that rings the ears.

 

Then, Calmos feels it in him, the stillness pulling at the thoughts in his mind. He was still so angry and ashamed and  _confused_. Yet the only thing in his mind that was clear was how much he wanted to kiss Ezria.

 

How much he wanted to feel Ezria’s lips on his. 

 

How much he wanted to feel, his body pressed against him. 

 

Was it wrong to want him so? Even if he was a liar? Even though it was clear there was something …  _dark_  about him?

 

Calmos tries to fight it, he tries to reign himself in, but his eyes keep snapping down to Ezria’s lips. It echoes inside him, these intrusive thoughts. They poke holes in his armor like water leaking through a boat, and no matter how much he bails, they keep coming until they start to overwhelm his thinking.

 

“Stop that,” he says, the conviction in his voice waning.

 

“Stop what?” Ezria asks flatly.

 

“What you are doing. You  _know_  what you are doing,” Calmos says.

 

Ezria pulls himself closer until their bodies are barely touching.

 

“Do you feel that?” Ezria asks, his voice low and sultry. The words drip sweetly off his lips like honey, and even more thoughts fill Calmos’s mind. 

 

How he tastes, what he felt like, what his erection felt like in Calmos’s hand.

 

He thinks about how Ezria would look, splayed nude on the bed beneath him. 

 

His mind goes back to the room with the stone tub. How he stood outside while Ezria’s body sang to him from behind closed doors. He wanted to know the lyrics. He wanted to learn them and repeat them in perfect pitch.

 

Calmos shakes his head and puts his hand on Ezria’s chest to push him away. But the forcefulness in his hand falls flat the second he touches Ezria.

 

His open palm, meant to push him away, turns into a hand that falls down his abdomen, and gently plays with the buttons on his shirt.

 

His eyes snap back up to Ezria’s. He stares at him, still with those jet-black eyes, but behind them isn’t anger. 

 

Ezria knows what he is doing, and he is patiently waiting for Calmos to break. Calmos was strong,  _much_  stronger than an average human, but he would break soon; they all broke.

 

“What are you thinking?” Ezria asks, attempting to push this affair along. 

 

His words echo into Calmos’ ears. Calmos shakes his head, trying to get him out of it. Trying to ignore that every part of his spirit is telling him to kiss Ezria. 

 

To hold him and waste every ounce of pent up sexual energy he’s had on him. 

 

To explore Ezria’s mouth with his tongue. 

To explore every inch of Ezria’s body with his hands.

 

His breathing becomes erratic, as blood begins to flow to his groin, and his eyes keep snapping down to Ezria’s lips again.

 

He wanted Ezria to make a move, to kiss him first, so it felt like it was something Ezria also wanted, not something only Calmos wanted. He imagines it in that moment, Ezria’s lips hot and wet against his. He wanted that, more than anything.

 

Then his boat sinks and he finds himself swimming in a lake of his own desire. He can’t hold back anymore; the temptation is too strong.

 

In an Instant, he launches forward, his hands immediately moving up to wrap around Ezria’s head as Calmos zealously kisses him.

 

Ezria stands there, unmoving. He might as well be a mannequin in a mall. Calmos’s hands run through his hair, assaulting his mouth with his tongue. For a moment, Ezria catches himself closing his eyes, but he pops them back open. 

 

This wasn’t for his own pleasure, despite him wanting to fall into that pit with Calmos. This was to prove a point.

 

Suddenly the passion in Calmos’ assault wanes and he pauses, his lips placed on Ezria’s. He moves away from him, his eyes wide as if he can’t believe he just did that to see Ezria staring back at him with hazel eyes.

 

Calmos looks confused. 

 

“Why did you do that?” Calmos says, embarrassed.

 

“That wouldn’t have worked if you weren’t part human,” Ezria says.

 

The hurt returns to Calmos’ eyes because the truth was now harder to ignore.

 

Or maybe it’s because Ezria didn’t kiss him back? 

 

Perhaps this feeling, this thing that wanted more than anything for Ezria to kiss him back, maybe it was one-sided? 

 

That hurt he could get over, he thinks, but being a halfling? 

 

That simple fact had changed his whole existence. What he thought he was, what he was proud to be. Every instance of his life up until that second had been tinted by it, tainted even.

 

Calmos stares at Ezria, realizing there was no way out of the truth – despite his mind still looking for a way.

 

No, he had to face it now.

 

He was a halfling. 

 

Calmos starts to tear up, the grief of his loss piling up at once. He was lied to, perhaps his whole life. His mother was a mortal, which meant she had been dead and probably was locked in one of the cells of Hell if she was unlucky. If she slept with his father, no doubt she was there.

 

It dawns on him that he could meet her. He could fill that hole he had always had in his existence. But would he want to? Would she know him or care to know him?

 

Had she thought about him? Did she wonder where he had gone?

 

_Did she care?_

 

Did he want her to care? He thinks he wants her to care.

 

“My apologies for tempting you,” Ezria says as Calmos pushes him away, his mind spinning again.

 

“But it was the only way in which you’d believe me,” Ezria finishes.

 

“So that is what it is? Huh?” Calmos says, calmer but with a distant wildness behind his eyes.

 

 “The thing. With your eyes. It’s true. You tempt people.”

 

_People_ , Calmos thinks, was he  _people_?

 

“It is my gift,” Ezria says, his eyes dropping as he ponders – for just a moment – if it were a gift or a curse.

 

Everyone had treated it as a curse. Why was he the only angel whose gift was viewed as a burden?

 

“All of it, everything is a lie, isn’t it? Calmos asks.

 

Ezria shakes his head, “It was not my inten-“

 

“Gah!” Calmos says, “How many of them have known? How many of them were laughing behind my back at the stupid  _halfling_  running around with mortal trinkets and carrying water like … like …”

 

He brings his hands up to his head and grabs a handful of his hair. He pulls at it, the words in his head driving him crazy.

 

“Agh,” he screams between gritted teeth, “everything is a lie.”

 

He collapses to a squat, his elbows tucked inside his knees. It was too much. His brain was splitting under the weight of knowing.

 

Ezria stands there, unsure of what to do but knowing he suddenly feels his own guilt. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought Calmos here? He had been so eager to have the demon by his side, to not leave him alone in Hell, that he didn’t think about what might happen on earth.

 

Did Calmos have any inkling he was a halfling? No, how could he have known? It was clear he didn’t know.

 

Still, Ezria stands there staring like a child stares at the shattered pieces of a glass they dropped. He wonders, wishes, he could turn back time.

 

But he can’t. 

 

That wasn’t his gift.

 

Ezria steps forward, his shoes – or Lucifer’s shoes – scraping against the alley concrete.

 

“I had no idea you were a halfling,” Ezria says, “truly. I had no idea you would be susceptible to my temptations. Now that I am aware, I assure you I will do my best to curb my behavior.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, a snap in his mind that leaves him numb. He collapses onto the alley floor, his legs stretched out beneath him, and his back fat against the wall.

 

He was a demon in Hell, perhaps the only one, that thought there was more to the world. More than carrying water, or making blades, or torturing humans, or enjoying the sweat pits.

 

He had thought there was more, there had to be for him to feel so unfulfilled.

 

Now he was a halfling, and it still didn’t answer that feeling inside of him. That feeling of wondering why?

 

Calmos sighs.

 

“It’s not your fault,” Calmos says, all emotion drained from his body.

 

 The way he says it seems cold as if he is reciting a speech.

 

“I believe it to be,” Ezria admits, “I suppose I … convinced you in my own way.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “No … It was I who made the decision. Temptation or not.”

 

Ezria frowns, he’d rather take the blame than Calmos.

 

“If I tempted you,” Ezria says, “I did it with only your best interest in mind.”

 

Calmos looks at him as if he didn’t believe it. It’s the first hint of emotion other than sadness or exhaustion.

 

Ezria chuckles.

 

Ezria tilts his head, “Honestly. I could have done so much worse. Made you  _do_  things …”

 

His thought trails off as he realizes he  _could_ make Calmos do things if he wanted. 

 

He could make Calmos do delightful things to him, or at the very least, allow him to do delightful things to Calmos. 

 

He closes his eyes, trying to shake that temptation off his body. 

 

He knows it to be wrong. Logically, he knows it would not be just. But that doesn’t change him thinking about it. About getting what he wants.

 

He clears his throat, trying to push that desire in him to the back of his mind, and finishes his sentence, “if I did tempt you, it was to offer you a chance at something you’ve never had.”

 

Calmos furrows his eyebrows. 

 

_How did he know?_

 

“Freedom,” Ezria says, a hope behind his words.

 

“Oh,” Calmos says, thinking Ezria was speaking about something else.

 

 “The choice to decide what you want for your life. Instead of being your father’s servant, or the boy who brings the water. A chance to be your own _man_.”

 

“That’s the problem,” Calmos says, looking up at Ezria, “I am man…”

 

Calmos scoffs, “ _Human_ , of all things.”

 

“Half human,” Ezria corrects.

 

Calmos scoffs, an exhaustion seeping into his bones.

 

 “Doesn’t matter. I’m dead,” he says.

 

Calmos looks up to Ezria, “How can I go back now to knowing what I know?”

 

Calmos scoffs again, this time disgusted with himself.

 

“A halfling in hell,” he says, the joke not lost on him.

 

Ezria nods, “I had hoped you would give more thought to becoming my sentinel, but if you prefer, I’m sure I can get Lucifer to set you at a crossroads.”

 

Calmos turns and looks up to Ezria. There is an honest look in Ezria’s eyes, his posture giving and willing. 

 

“You still want me to be your sentinel?” Calmos asks, shaking his head, “You must be just as foolish as me.”

 

Ezria moves to the wall and slowly sits down next to Calmos.

 

“You’re not foolish, Calmos,” Ezria says, “and neither am I.”

 

He turns to look at Calmos, a seriousness in his eyes that imparts he doesn’t like being referred to as foolish. 

 

They lock eyes, and the offense in Ezria’s eyes fades. He watches Calmos for a second, his eyes slowly moving to his lips. He catches himself staring and turns to face forward.

 

“You are special,” Ezria says, extending his legs and folding his hands in his lap, “Don’t waste that on carrying water or making blades. Whatever you choose, I will … I will be  _delighted_  to have you in my ranks. As a crossroad demon or as my sentinel. You decide.”

 

“Really?” he asks, shocked, “you’re serious?”

 

Ezria tilts his head, “Have you known me to be frivolous with my words Calmos?” he asks.

 

Calmos shakes his head and turns to face the door to the alleyway. Calmos shakes his head.

 

“I don’t need any more reasons to have a target on my back,” he says, “the demons all think I’m weak. That I’m incapable of protecting myself. Imagine what they will think if I am in charge of protecting you?”

 

“You need not worry about that,” Ezria says, “I can protect myself.”

 

“As a sentinel I would need to,” he says, turning to Ezria.

 

“My duty would be to you and you alone. Your body would be my body, and any harm that comes to it, I would need to defend you as such.”

 

Ezria nods, “I appreciate your dedication to an oath you’ve yet to take, Calmos. But you need not worry about any of that. Once you become my sentinel, you will be the most feared demon in Hell, half-human or not. No one will glance at you, let alone touch you.”

 

“You don’t know them,” Calmos says, “they don’t fear each other, let alone me.”

 

He pauses, it suddenly hitting him what would indeed happen if they discovered what he was.

 

“They mustn’t know,” Calmos says, turning to Ezria, “You can’t let them know.”

 

Ezria shakes his head, “They must,” Ezria says.

 

 Calmos folds his legs and shifts onto his feet to stand.

 

“Promise me you won’t tell them!” he says, staring down at Ezria.

 

Ezria stands, “Calmos, they must know. They must know the form in which fear comes. With wings or human blood, they are mine –  _ours -_  to command..”

 

“They will mock me!” Calmos says.

 

“Let them,” Ezria says, a deepness in his voice that indicates he has a plan for those who do.

 

“Let them mock you so that we may use them as examples.”

 

Calmos shakes his head.

 

“No,” he says, shaking his head.

 

“This is what you wanted, Calmos,” Ezria says, “Right? Respect _, Fear._  If you want it, you must  _work_  for it. You must remove fear from yourself to be feared. You must respect yourself to be respected. Don’t hide from who you are, Calmos.”

 

“ _Embrace it_ ,” Ezria says with a deep, gravely voice.

 

Calmos stares at Ezria and they stand in silence for a moment, both aware of how those words came out.

 

Ezria sighs, turning his eyes away. He was trying to control it, his desire to dominate Calmos. His desire to have him do Ezria’s bidding. He could feel it in him, the darkness in his spirit begging to come out now that it knew for sure. Now that it knew it could play on every string of Calmos’s existence. He wanted to, but … not with this demon. Halfling or not, Calmos was …

 

“It’s beautiful,” Ezria says, his voice soft and silent as he thinks back to his first moments meeting the demon. 

 

When he had startled him in the lagoon and Calmos fell into the water. He had disrobed in front of him, and even in the dim light of the lagoon he could make out his form. He wanted to hold him then, without knowing why. Maybe something in him had known? Perhaps it was then he had chosen Calmos.

 

Beautiful? Calmos thinks.

 

He crosses his hands in front of him, fiddling with his fingers.

 

“You … think I’m beautiful?” he asks, his eyes now timidly hopping back and forth between the ground and Ezria’s glance.

 

“Oh,” Ezria says, pausing, realizing he said that out loud.

 

“I … I suppose you are quite handsome,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos smiles and starts to blush. He turns his head away, wanting to hide the smile creeping onto his face. Moments ago, he had been ready to pull his hair out, but the thought of this angel finding him beautiful … somehow it dulls the pain of the truth.

 

Everyone else would no doubt reject him on finding out, but … at least the angel wouldn’t.

 

Perhaps the angel  _was_  truly his friend?

 

Ezria tilts his head, watching Calmos’s behavior.

 

“Fascinating,” he says to himself.

 

Ezria looks at him and pauses, before turning his head and allowing his eyes to lock onto the wall. He had remembered something. Slowly his hand moves down to his pocket, where he feels the bulge of the lube bottle.

 

He clears his throat and turns to walk for the door.

 

“Shall we?” he asks, eager to not be left alone with this demon. 

 

He fears what he might do, gift or not.

 

Calmos sighs and shakes his head. He moves to sit back in the alley.

 

“I’d like to just … sit here for a moment if you don’t mind, My Lord.”

 

Ezria turns from the door and watches as Calmos sits.

 

Ezria nods and walks back across the alley and sits next to Calmos.

 

“You don’t have to sit here, My Lord. I’m sure your brother would make better company than I would.”

 

Ezria laughs, “Calmos, I am not here for Amenadiel. There is nothing he and I need to discuss.”

 

Calmos nods and turns his head forward.

 

“Besides. I can’t let a _halfling_ run free on earth. I imagine the Silvery City would have a plague or two over the idea.”

 

Calmos looks at him, unsure if that were a joke but not quite in the joking mood.

 

Ezria notices the look Calmos is giving him and sighs, setting his hand in his lap.

 

“I suppose we can sit here in silence if you’d like,” Ezria says.

 

“I would,” Calmos says.

 

\--

 

Inside, Amenadiel sits at the bar, staring endlessly into an empty glass in front of him. He had plans to visit Linda soon, but he couldn’t shake the feeling in his stomach about Lucifer.

 

About Father. 

 

About  _everything._  

 

It felt like things were getting worse, not better as he wants.

 

The penthouse elevator dings, and he turns to see Lucifer walking out, a glass of whiskey already in his hands. Lucifer turns to see Amenadiel and nods towards him.

 

“I suppose we must figure out what to do with all these extra souls now,” Lucifer says as he begins to descend the steps.

 

Amenadiel turns to him and crosses his arms.

 

“I take it we can’t just give them back to their owners?” Amenadiel says.

 

Lucifer chuckles, “I assure you stealing souls from live humans is not the way these things normally happen. Daniel was a …  _special_ case.”

 

Lucifer takes a sip and then approaches the bar, leaning onto the countertop.

 

“You see, we can’t give them back because there is no one to give them back to,” Lucifer says, “I also don’t want to give them back to that demon. That seems like an ill-fated move.”

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

They sit there in silence for a moment.

 

“How did your date with Chloe go?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer sighs and climbs onto a barstool before leaning on the countertop, his hands clasped around his glass.

 

“It went better than expected,” he says, “Still no sex but … she didn’t seem too miffed about not having a meal.”

 

“I told you she would understand,” Amenadiel says.

 

“Mmm,” Lucifer says, taking a sip of his drink.

 

At least one of his brothers was attempting to be helpful.

 

Lucifer pauses and looks around as if it just dawned on him something – or someone – was missing.

 

“Where is Ezria?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel nods towards the back door, “He had to attend to his demon friend. They’ve been out there for hours.”

 

Lucifer smiles widely. Amenadiel catches it and shakes his head.

 

“Not like that. We just discovered he’s a halfling. A demon halfling.”

 

Lucifer pauses and tilts his head, staring blankly at Amenadiel.

 

Amenadiel nods at Lucifer’s shock, “yeah, my thoughts exactly.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “No, that’s… impossible. Demon halflings were-“

 

“Destroyed, I know. But I heard it. His soul is there.”

 

Lucifer turns and stares off into nothingness.

 

“Father has to be behind this,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel nods, “Isn’t he always?”

 

Lucifer turns to Amenadiel, noticing those words don’t sound hopeful as they should. Instead, they sound bitter.

 

Lucifer watches him for a second. Amenadiel seems conflicted.

 

“You’re still upset with him,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel scoffs, “That obvious, huh?”

 

“Well, if I could forgive you, I’m sure he will,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “That’s just it Luci, I don’t know if I have done anything that needs forgiveness. He misled me, he used me for his own benefit, and people got hurt.”

 

“Don’t sound surprised brother, that is his normal way of doing things.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, Lucifer’s words not helping him.

 

Lucifer groans and turns his back to the bar, leaning on the countertop.

 

He looks out into the empty club and sighs. He turns to Amenadiel and watches him for a second before turning back to the empty club.

 

“I suppose you require an apology,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel turns to him and scoffs, “I don’t need your sympathy,” he says.

 

“Perhaps not, but … I would like to apologize,” Lucifer says, turning to Amenadiel. 

 

They catch eyes for a second, and Lucifer looks away, not interested in looking at Amenadiel when he says what he needs to say.

 

“I haven’t always been the kindest to you. Obviously, who could blame me? For the longest time, your presence was an indication of my return to hell.”

 

Amenadiel scoffs, amused. 

 

Lucifer turns to him and smiles.

 

“It was never-ending, wasn’t it?” Lucifer asks.

 

Amenadiel nods, “I remember the look you gave me every time you first saw me. You detested me so.”

 

Lucifer chuckles and turns back to the club.

 

“What changed?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer’s smile falls.

 

“You stopped trying,” Lucifer says, turning back to Amenadiel.

 

“I suppose when you no longer became the eager guard, I stopped viewing you as the enemy.”

 

“I was never your enemy,” Amenadiel says.

 

“Mm,” he hums, acknowledging he heard that without explaining why he disagrees.

 

Lucifer turns back to the empty club, getting back into his train of thought. Now was not the time to argue semantics.

 

“I … blamed you for Daniel’s predicament. For volunteering to remove Charlotte from his life and not following through.”

 

“I blame myself,” Amenadiel says sadly.

 

Lucifer turns to him and shakes his head, “No brother. It isn’t your fault, it is mine. He is a part of the Detective’s life, and I didn’t want to see her unhappy. I would have done anything for her, including wiping Daniel’s memory so he wouldn’t leave her and the child. The bottom line is It was my idea to wipe his memory, and so I should have made sure everything was sorted.”

 

“Luci …” Amenadiel starts to say.

 

“I was so …  _preoccupied_  with the Detective. But you must understand, brother. This thing between her and me, it’s… all-encompassing,” he says, turning to Amenadiel.

 

“It’s the first thing I think about when I wake and the last thing I think about before I sleep. I even dream about her. Not always pleasant mind you, but she’s there, always. Sometimes I don’t even sleep; I just … stay awake thinking of when I can see her again. It’s…”

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows, an annoyance growing in him.

 

“It’s… maddening,” he says, frustrated.

 

He’s never been so obsessed with one thing, let alone one person, in his entire life.

 

“It’s love, Luci,” Amenadiel says, chuckling, “It’s horrible, isn’t it?”

 

Lucifer looks at him and nods.

 

“It’s challenging and tedious and just downright stupid most of the time, “Amenadiel says, shaking his head, thinking about Linda.

 

“But other times,” he continues, “its … beautiful. It gives me purpose in those times when I question why I’m here.”

 

Amenadiel stares outwards.

 

_Like now_ , he thinks.

 

It seemed like everything he tried to do to fix Lucifer or Dan had failed. Dan had his soul back, but Lucifer had to intervein. Who knows what kind of butterfly effect that caused?

 

And now Lucifer was vomiting out soul tar. One of his doors was open, and who knows how many more would open? Why? Why was it open?

 

Lucifer looks at him, watching the look behind his eyes grow more distant.

 

“I don’t blame you,” Lucifer says.

 

Amenadiel turns to him, a sadness in his eyes. He nods, not wanting to say that he blamed himself.

 

“Besides,” Lucifer says, slapping the countertop, trying to change the subject to something less serious, “Daniel is all fixed now, yes? All is well.”

 

Amenadiel nods and forces a smile onto his face just as the door next to the bar opens and out steps Calmos, followed shortly by Ezria.

 

Calmos is quiet and has his arms folded in front of him. Ezria sees Lucifer and Amenadiel by the bar, staring at Calmos. Calmos looks up, timidly glancing at them. They stare at him like he were a curiosity. He didn’t like that.

 

Ezria crosses in front of their view, and their eyes move to him.

 

“I believe we’ve had enough exploration for now,” Ezria says, turning back to Calmos. 

 

Calmos’ eyes drop to his feet, trying to make himself smaller.

 

Ezria turns back to Lucifer and Amenadiel.

 

“I think it’s time we retire to our quarters.”

 

Lucifer nods, “I don’t have quarters her for you to retire to, but I did call and reserve a room for you at a nearby hotel,” he says.

 

“A hostel?” Ezria says, displeased.

 

Lucifer laughs, “A hotel. I assure you they are different things.”

 

Ezria nods, “Then we shall retire,” he says. 

 

Amenadiel slides off his seat, “I’ll take you,” he says,” I’m on my way out anyway.”

 

Ezria nods, “Thank you, brother.”

 

Amenadiel escorts Ezria and Calmos back towards the door they came from.

 

“Take the van!” Lucifer yells back as they cross through the door.

 

The door closes, and he’s left in the club alone. He turns to the emptiness of the club and sighs. It used to be comfortable, the loneliness. Now it just … it just emphasized that she wasn’t here.

 

He turns and slowly ascends the steps to the second landing. He sees the elevator to his penthouse and crosses past the front door just as it opens, and a breeze rolls in. He turns to it, casually, and pauses when he stares at Abel.

 

Abel sees him and pauses. They both stare at each other as though both of them were seeing ghosts. 

 

Abel is the first to move. 

 

He timidly walks closer, towards a wide-eyed Lucifer.

 

All he wears is a zipped-up jacket that does very little to hide his nudity beneath it.

 

Once the shock wears off in Lucifer’s eyes, it is immediately replaced by an instant fire in Lucifer’s eyes. 

 

He turns his body – with clenched fists - to Abel.

 

“If you are not a ghost,” Lucifer says, “Very shortly, you will be.”

 

Lucifer closes the distance between them, his stance intimidating and aggressive. He has no intention of leaving anything for Abel to come back to.

 

“Take me back,” Abel says, fully knowing what he is asking.

 

Lucifer pauses, those words catching him off guard. He had expected Abel to fight back; to beg for life.

 

Instead, he was begging for death.

 

He takes a step back, then takes a long, confused look at Abel again. There was something off about him. He looked the same, and his spirit was clearly the same, but there was an absence there. 

 

Something was missing.

 

“Please take me back,” Abel says again.

 

It had hurt the first time, being split apart.

 

It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life, but somehow _this_  was worst. 

 

The emptiness, the coldness, the sheer pain of impermanence was worse after where he had been.

 

“Please,” Abel asks, begging as he gets closer.

 

The anger in Lucifer’s eyes slowly fades. He isn’t sure if this is a trick, some form of manipulation.

 

“Why?” he asks, his voice dripping with fury, yet still curious.

 

“I’m cold,” Abel says, “Every limb in my body I… I can feel it. The blood, the electricity. It hurts. I want to go back, please take me back.” 

 

“Why are you here?” Lucifer says, “to cause more havoc? To harm the Detective?”

 

The idea of that alone makes him angrier, and he immediately crosses over to Abel. He grabs Abel’s jacket in his fist and pulling him close, looking for the truth.

 

Abel shakes his head, frightened.

 

“No! No! I …. I don’t know! I swear!”

 

Lucifer looks into his eyes, searching for the truth – trying to pull it all out this time.

 

“I just want to go back! I was happy there. Please, just take me back.”

 

The anger in Lucifer’s eyes fades, but only momentarily, as he moves from realizing Abel was harmless to realizing that there was only one way he was here. 

 

Father.

 

Father had brought him back.

 

Father had overturned his ruling, but for what? If there was no purpose behind bringing Abel back, what would be the point in-

 

The fire in his eyes burns brighter, a wild rage behind them as he grins – bearing his teeth. The red fire snaps into a hot cyan.

 

Abel visibly shakes. He closes his eyes, ready for the pain to come. To be delivered back into the stars, the silence, the permanent impermanence.

 

Lucifer stares at Abel, watching him ready to succumb. The anger rises in his veins until a line of fire starts to crawl across his forehead.

 

Father did this to prove something, he thinks, to make Lucifer feel like he had no control. 

 

To suggest that everything Lucifer did could be undone. As if everything he did was reversible.

 

_He was making a statement._

 

Lucifer had heard that statement loud and clear, but God will not his response.

 

\--

 

Inside Trixie’s Bedroom, Chloe pulls up the covers over Trixie as she lays down into a comfortable position.

 

“What did you and Ms. Amy do today?” Chloe asks, pulling the covers up to Trixie’s shoulder.

 

“We watched a movie and ate pizza,” Trixie says with a smile.

 

“Pizza?!” Chloe asks, “Oh, that sounds good.”

 

“Mmmhmmm,” Trixie hums, nodding.

 

Chloe laughs, “What movie did you watch?” she asks, rubbing Trixie’s back.

 

Trixie pauses, trying to figure out a title in her head that is different than the actual movie she watched.

 

Chloe squints her eyes, noticing she is trying to come up with a lie.

 

Trixie looks at her, and they share a moment where they both understand what is happening.

 

“Aliens,” Trixie says innocently. 

 

Deciding it best she got in trouble for something she was not allowed to do, instead of outright lying.

 

Chloe groans, “I told her you weren’t old enough to-“

 

She looks as Trixie stares at her, waiting for her to finish her usual complaint about watching movies she wasn’t old enough to see.

 

Chloe pauses and rolls her eyes at herself. She supposes Trixie already knew what sex was. Introducing her to gut-exploding aliens was the least of her worries. 

 

She scoffs at herself. She had just spent the last three weeks of her life dealing with angels and demons, and she’s trying to tell her eight-year-old not to watch movies about  _aliens_.

 

She laughs to herself. Trixie looks at her like she’s gone crazy.

 

“Mommy?” Trixie asks.

 

“Yes, baby?” Chloe says, brushing the loose hair from Trixie’s face.

 

“Where were you last night?”

 

“Oh,” Chloe says, “Lucifer was feeling really sad, so I had to stay with him.”

 

“Why is he sad?” Trixie asks.

 

Chloe pauses, trying to think.

 

“Well,” she says, trying to figure out how to explain it, “he just had a really bad time growing up and … sometimes when we don’t talk to people about things, it makes us feel sad later on.”

 

Trixie nods, understanding.

 

Chloe looks at Trixie, her mind moving from Lucifer to Trixie.

 

“Like you,” she says, “we haven’t really talked about how you feel about Daddy being in the hospital,”

 

Trixie frowns.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chloe asks.

 

Trixie shakes her head no.

 

“You know Daddy will be just fine, right? He’ll be back to picking you up from school and taking you to the park.”

 

Trixie smiles at that.

 

“Everything will be just fine, Monkey, I promise,” She says.

 

“Who stays with Daddy when he’s sad?” Trixie asks.

 

Chloe pauses. 

 

Who  _does_ stay with Dan? 

 

It used to be Charlotte … it used to be her.

 

She had felt so guilty that she had ignored him, but now that he was better, he needed someone to be with him. 

 

To talk to. 

 

She turns her eyes to Trixie, who watches and waits for an answer.

 

She smiles.

 

“You do, Monkey,” she says, “When Daddy feels sad, you and I stay with him. Right?”

 

Trixie smiles at that.

 

“Just like when you’re sad, I stay with you, right?” Chloe says. 

 

Trixie nods.

 

 “and Maze!” she says.

 

Chloe laughs, “yes, and Maze.”

 

“And bubbles too,” Trixie tacks on.

 

Chloe smiles and turns her head to the puppy laying silently in a dog bed near the door.

 

She furrows her eyebrows. Bubbles was quiet for a puppy. She supposes that is what happens when you have an actual hellhound as a pet.

 

She rolls her eyes again.

 

_And she is worried about the movie Aliens._

 

She sighs and nods, “and bubbles too,” she says, reaching up to tuck the covers tighter beneath Trixie.

 

“Now get some rest, okay?”

 

“Good night Mommy,” Trixie says as Chloe approaches the door and turns off the light.

 

“Good Night, Monkey,” she says.

 

She slides the door closed to Trixie’s bedroom before crossing into the kitchen and opening the fridge. If she’s lucky, there might be some of that pizza leftover. 

 

She’s face deep in the fridge when Maze opens the door and walks into the kitchen.

 

“Oh, hey Maze,” Chloe says, closing the fridge door.

 

Maze turns to Chloe and finds her holding a plate of chicken nuggets in her hands. She turns her eyes up to Chloe then down to the plate.

 

“Didn’t you have a date with Lucifer?” she asks, “why are you eating again?”

 

Before Chloe can say anything, she nods, answering her own question in her head.

 

“Ah, yeah. I told you, you have to eat _before_  you spend a night with him. And stretch.”

 

Chloe laughs, “No, we didn’t get to eat anything. We just talked, so I’m hungry.”

 

Maze leans on the countertop, completely befuddled.

 

“Tell me something, Decker. How do you consistently say no to him? Like, is that your thing? Denial? You like a good set of blue balls?”

 

Chloe leans forward and slaps Maze hand.

 

“Shh!” she says, “I just put Trixie to bed.”

 

Maze chuckles and slips her shoes off her feet.

 

Chloe looks at Maze, “Besides, I should be asking what _you_  are doing home so early. I thought you were out on a job?”

 

Maze sighs and slides her shoes off.

 

“No, I was out stalking the Lieutenant.”

 

“What?” Chloe says, a chicken nugget halfway in her mouth.

 

“I was convinced she was a demon, but no. Turns out, she’s just a regular shitty human.”

 

Chloe chews on the chicken nugget.

 

“Wow, Maze,” she says in between chews, “I would be offended, but I’m kind of used to it by now.”

 

“Obviously not you, Decker,” Maze says.

 

“Did you know she was an orphan?” Maze says, changing the track of the conversation. 

 

It almost gives Chloe whiplash. Clearly, it’s been on Maze’s mind.

 

Chloe pauses and looks at Maze, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

“No,” she says, intrigued.

 

“Yeah, apparently she grew up in some catholic orphanage which explains her whole … organization and rule thing.”

 

“Huh,” Chloe says, before shaking that intrigue off. She supposes that fact  _did_ make sense.

 

“Yeah,” Maze says, the frustration seeping into her words, “All this time I thought maybe she was another demon but nope, just another broken human.”

 

“I probably wouldn’t call her that to her face,” Chloe says.

 

Maze scoffs and leans off the counter.

 

“I’m going to my room,” she says.

 

“Hey,” Chloe says, stopping her.

 

Maze pauses and turns around, annoyed at being held up.

 

“Is everything okay? You can talk to me, you know that, right?’

 

Maze looks at her, the disinterest in talking behind her eyes.

 

“You need to do  _less_  talking Decker,” she says before turning around and heading into her bedroom.

 

She closes the door behind her, leaving Chloe standing in the kitchen with a plate of chicken nuggets.

 

“Huh,” Chloe says, putting another chicken nugget in her mouth.

 

**\--**

 

Outside the gates of the Silver City, Abel slides across the floor before stopping short of a golden web of light. He groans and looks up at the web before turning behind him to see Lucifer – unhinged and fully devil’d out – walking towards the gate.

 

His eyes are wide, wanton, and burn a vivid cyan. Abel was responsible for the near-death of the Detective, and now he had been brought back. Even after Lucifer had punished him. 

 

That was his role, as given to him by Father. He was to punish, and he did so with great pride. He had been made out as a pariah, a monster because of his actions. 

 

He had been relatively okay with that, but to then have his punishment subverted? Ignored?

 

Abel hears footsteps behind him and turns to see Michael and a bevy of angels pouring out from the gates, ready to fight.

 

His eyes widen, and he scurries out of the direct line between Michael and Lucifer.

 

“You should stop coming here, Samael,” Michael says, unamused – a hand laid carefully on his sword.

 

“It’s not you I want,” Lucifer says.

 

“You don’t belong here,” Michael warns.

 

“I know he’s here. I know he knows I’m here,” Lucifer says, looking around, his voice rising as he speaks directly to God.

 

“Come talk to me!” he says, “You wanted me? Huh? You wanted to talk? Well, here I am!”

 

“Samael,” Michael says, a concern starting in his eyes.

 

Lucifer turns to Michael. The look in his eyes reminds him of his fall, of Michael warning him to obey. 

 

Lucifer shakes his head. Maybe then he should have listened, perhaps then he should have taken Michael’s pity as concern, but not now. 

 

No, he was  _done_  playing games.

 

“Tell Father to stop interfering with my life, and I will stop coming here,” Lucifer says.

 

“Tell me yourself,” a voice says behind him. 

 

Lucifer turns to see God standing there, a blank look on his face.

 

“You,” Lucifer says, his voice echoing into a growl. 

 

God turns to see Abel cowering on the ground nearby. He furrows his brows and moves towards Abel.

 

“Oh, Child,” he says with sadness, “The hounds ate your-“

 

“You have no right!” Lucifer screams.

 

God turns to Lucifer as he slowly approaches, the anger building in his body and a burning heat radiating from the center of his core. It burns the already scorched skin of his body.

 

“This is all _your_ fault,” Lucifer says, as he strides towards God, unbridled rage in his heart,” You are a plague! Everything horrible that has ever happened … I thought it was me, but no, it’s you! It has always been you!”

 

God turns to him just as Lucifer reels his fist back, ready to punch.

 

To every Angel watching, it feels like forever, as if time itself had stood still. Yet, it also feels quick as though there is not enough time to react.

 

Lucifer’s fist flies forward. The second it makes contact with God’s jaw, the gates of the Silver City disappear, and Lucifer finds himself in an empty – and completely white - room. His fist continues to complete its path, flying forward through empty space.

 

It feels like he didn’t hit anything, like he just grazed a cloud of smoke.

 

God is nowhere in sight. 

 

His rage falls to confusion as he looks around, trying to catch his bearings. He turns a full 360 degrees. 

 

There are no doors or windows here, just an endless white void.

 

The rage returns in his eyes.  _God was doing this._

 

“Fight me!” he bellows, peeling his shirt off and tossing it aside. Usually, his body demonstrated pleasant leanness.

 

Now, however, his form seems bigger, his chest muscles are as large as they are red and scaly. Fire runs through the veins in his skin like lava from a volcano. His breath is heavy and raspy, and the light in his eyes continues to burn a bright – almost blinding – cyan.

 

“Fight me, you coward!” he yells, his voice guttural and raw.

 

 His words don’t echo, but he gets the distinct impression this white space is endless.

 

“You want war so badly?” Lucifer continues, looking around, searching for any sign of the being that brought him here, “then  _fight_ me!”

 

He doesn’t care where he is, only that he wants a singular thing; to hurt Father as Father has hurt him. To make him know what it feels like. 

 

He starts to laugh a sinister laugh, his teeth exposed, and his naked flesh still red and angry.

 

The fire in his core burns brighter, the red scorched skin turning black like lava rock.

 

“This is a part of your great plan? Right?! This is what you wanted, right? For me to be the  _monster_? Well, here I am!  _Your will be done_!” he roars.

 

A form appears behind him, seemingly out of thin air. It stands calm and collected.

 

“Why are you so angry, Samael?” God says.

 

Lucifer turns around quickly. When his eyes land on God, he strides forward again and tosses a punch. As soon as it makes contact with him, God disappears, and Lucifer’s blow flies through empty air again.

 

The form reappears behind him, still calm; still collected.

 

“Remember,  _you_  came to  _me_ ,” God says, “It was not I who sought you out.”

 

Lucifer turns around, again he strides forward and tosses a punch. 

 

The form disappears and reappears behind him.

 

“Did you not tell me you would do as I asked if I protected her? Did you not make that promise?” he asks.

 

Lucifer turns around, a rage in his eyes that can’t be explained or talked down.

 

“Did I not give you wanted you wanted?” God asks.

 

“I did as you asked,” Lucifer says between his teeth as he approaches God and again pulls his fist back to strike. 

 

He punches again, and to no surprise, God disappears and reappears behind Lucifer.

 

“No, you didn’t. In fact, you constantly attempt to subvert my will every chance you get," he says, "I suppose now you understand how that must feel.”

 

Lucifer turns to him.

 

“Stay still so I can punch you, you asshole,” he says as he strides forward once more.

 

\--

Inside an upper-end hotel room, Calmos sits on a king-sized bed wearing nothing but a clean pair of boxer briefs. 

 

It’s the first time he’s worn cotton, or underwear for that manner, and he seems pleased with the fabric. He leans against the best, his back pressed up against the headboard, and plays the harmonica – very poorly at that.

 

His eyes stare forward, an uneasy stillness in them.

 

Ezria sits on the edge of the bed, his shirt off, but still wearing a pair of black slacks. 

 

He stares off into nothingness, thinking, always thinking. He doesn’t seem to mind the playing. In fact, it is almost as if he rather enjoys it at this point.

 

He turns and watches Calmos, his eyes descending his form. They land on the bulge that sticks out beneath his fresh black boxer briefs.

 

Ezria coughs, clearing his throat and his mind.

 

Calmos stares out into nothingness, a blank expression on his face as if he had worn his emotions out.

 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” he says.

 

Calmos stops playing and turns to Ezria. He stares at him for a moment before he lowers the harmonica to his lap.

 

He fiddles with it in his hands for a moment.

 

“Does that make you think less of me?” he asks, his eyes timidly rolling back up to Ezria.

 

Ezria chuckles and turns back to face forward.

 

“Come now, Calmos. I do not believe there to be much about you that would change my mind,” he says.

 

If he had to be honest, it was somewhat refreshing. It made him different, unique, rare.

 

He turns back to Calmos as Calmos fiddles with the instrument in his hand. To Calmos, it had been an exciting object, something fun to bide his time in Hell. Something that allowed him to imagine being his own crossroad demon one day.

 

Calmos scoffs at himself. That was hope, a  _human_  emotion.

 

He sees it now. How could he have been so blind?

 

The harmonica had been a sign of hope to him, now it was only a reminder of the truth. He was sired by a demon and a human.

  

The truth of that settles in him, still hard to come to terms with.

 

“Why am I not human?” he asks, looking up at Ezria.

 

Ezria turns to him and pauses, his eyes staring at Calmos as if trying to come up with an answer. He doesn’t find one.

 

“I don’t know,” Ezria says, “a demon-halfling is … nonexistent these days. Atmos must have strong blood.”

 

Calmos scoffs. His father had been so proud of his bloodline, and he figured it was his own narcissism that had garnered him that pride. 

 

But it wasn’t. 

 

It was Calmos.

 

The boy who shouldn’t be.

 

Calmos sighs and brings the harmonica up to his lips before he starts playing again, this time with little conviction. 

 

The song is sad and the energy behind it lacking, but it was something to fill the silence; to drown out the questions he had in his mind.

 

Suddenly, Calmos stops playing and opens his mouth wide as a yawn escapes.

 

Ezria turns to him, and Calmos frowns.

 

“Sorry, My Lord. I don’t know what came over me.”

 

Ezria chuckles and turns back to staring at nothing.

 

“You’re tired, Calmos, you require sleep.”

 

Calmos scoffs.

 

“Rest is for humans, My Lord. It is a waste of time.”

 

Calmos pauses.

 

_Time._  

 

Earth operated on time, and he had taken so quickly to that concept. 

 

Calmos frowns. 

 

He supposed that was the human in him. 

 

He places the harmonica back to his lips and, again, mindlessly plays.

 

“There’s no shame in needing rest,” Ezria says, “You are half-human after all. I heard the moon does strange things to your kind.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “I am a demon,” he says, “no matter what my blood may say. Demons do not require rest. Rest is for humans, and humans are weak.”

 

Ezria laughs, “Did your father tell you that?”

 

Calmos is about to respond when he pauses. He supposes Atmos did tell him that. He sighs and relaxes into the headboard.

 

“I wish I were never born,” he says sadly.

 

Ezria turns to him, a displeased look on his face.

 

“Don’t say that,” he says.

 

“Life was hard enough as a demon. I can’t imagine how it will worsen as a halfling,” he says sadly, pulling the harmonica back up to his lips. 

 

He blows with very little conviction into it before pausing and looking down at it. 

 

All this time, the truth had been beneath his nose on his lips. He scoffs and tosses the harmonica across the room. It hits the wall and lands on the floor.

 

Ezria looks at the harmonica, then at Calmos, as Calmos brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs. 

 

He wanted to go home, but … was it even really his home?

 

Ezria nods to himself before he stands.

 

“I understand,” Ezria says, “Truly I do. If you recall, I had been locked in a cage until not long ago.”

 

He approaches the harmonica and leans down to grab it.

 

“Many times, I questioned the purpose of my birth, but …that doesn’t change that I am here,” he says, turning to Calmos and approaching him, “and if I am here, it must be for a reason. I just haven’t found it yet.”

 

Calmos looks at him, unsure.

 

“Demon Halflings are rare,” Ezria says, looking over the harmonica.

 

“Most of your kind were destroyed in the early days. Feared and hated for your proximity to the perfection of an Angel. You have the soul of a human and the immortality of an Angel. Demons at that time were angry and still are, to some degree, about what they perceive to be abandonment. Any reminder of their imperfection is met with brutality.”

 

Calmos watches him, clinging to his words and trying to indoctrinate himself with something positive about himself.

 

Ezria smiles, “They hate you because you are  _better_  than them. More perfect, more … beautiful.”

 

_Beautiful,_  Calmos thinks, there is that word again.

 

“If you are here, Calmos,” Ezria says, standing by the bed in front of Calmos, “It is for a reason. We just need to find out what that reason is.”

 

Ezria holds the harmonica for Calmos and Calmos eyes it. He seems unsure, still.

 

“What if I have no purpose?” Calmos asks.

 

Ezria nods, “Then together we will make one.”

 

Calmos lets go of a small smile, then turns his eyes to the harmonica in Ezria’s hands. 

 

He reaches out and grabs it. Hope, he thinks.

 

Perhaps hope wasn’t such a bad thing?

 

Ezria, pleased, moves to sit back at the foot of the bed.

 

“Thank you, my Lord,” Calmos says.

 

Ezria nods and turns back to the wall.

 

“Tomorrow, I will speak with Lucifer about taking more of an active role in Hell. Then-“

 

Behind him, Calmos opens his mouth and lets out a giant yawn. Ezria pauses and turns to him.

 

“My apologies again, My Lord!” he says, “I tried to keep that one in.”

 

Ezria chuckles and walks around the bed. He climbs into the position next to Calmos.

 

“Don’t be afraid of who you are,” he says to Calmos, “Confidence is powerful.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “The second they find out I’m a halfling …,” he says.

 

Ezria furrows his eyebrows, “No one will harm you so long as you are with me,” Ezria says.

 

“Well I can’t always be with you, now can I?” Calmos responds.

 

“Perhaps if you were to make up your mind about being my sentinel, you wouldn’t have that issue.”

 

Calmos shakes his head and sets his harmonica in his lap.

 

“Why do you want _me_  as your sentinel so badly?” he asks, “I’m –“

 

Mid-sentence, his mouth opens wide again, and he yawns.

 

“See?” he says, the second he recovers from his yawn.

 

Ezria chuckles.

 

“You’re tired. In Hell, you might be fine, but here your human side is clearly taking over. Sleep, Calmos. I promise you’ll feel better.”

 

Calmos scoffs, “I have strong blood. Strong  _demon_  blood. I don’t need sleep, I just … I just have to fight it,” he says.

 

Calmos pulls the harmonica up to his lips as Ezria lovingly watches him. Ezria looks forward, setting his head against the headboard. He crosses his legs and places his hand in his lap, listening to Calmos play the harmonica. 

 

He listens in silence, and together they sit comfortably. Calmos yawns again before going back to playing – if it could be considered playing.

 

Ezria turns his head to Calmos and watches him for a second. Then he turns his head forward, his eyes dropping as he thinks.

 

Suddenly, he starts to hum, and Calmos stops playing.

 

He turns to Ezria and listens. It’s a beautiful melody, and Ezria’s voice is .., well, _Angelic._

 

It’s soft and beautiful, but haunting. The more Calmos listens, the more it digs into his bones and settles in his halfling soul. It wraps around him with a warm embrace.

 

“That’s… wonderful,” he says in awe, “What is tha-“

 

Mid-sentence, he yawns again.

 

“Just listen,” Ezria says, stopping his hum. 

 

He begins again, picking up where he left off.

 

Calmos listens, and the longer he listens, the heavier his eyelids become. He tries to fight it, snapping his eyelids open. But the longer Ezria hums, the harder it becomes to resist. 

 

Slowly, he begins to drift, and his body starts to lean from being upright to drooping and sliding on the backboard until his head falls into Ezria’s Lap, and his eyes are closed. 

 

Ezria reels back and stops humming as Calmos falls into his lap. He has his hands raised as if he didn’t want to touch him, as if he were disgusted by his action. 

 

He looks down, Calmos’ eyes closed, and his breath rising and falling methodically. He sleeps deeply as if he hadn’t slept a day in his life.

 

Slowly Ezria’s hands fall as he leans forward to verify Calmos is asleep.

 

He seems asleep.

 

Ezria smiles and sits back, his lands lowering to sit by his hips. His smile fades, and he stares forward again. He sits in silence for a moment before he starts to hum again, this time for his own benefit.

 

That song had reminded him of all the things he wanted. 

 

Of his mother standing over a hammock of him and Samael, humming that beautiful tune to them. She had forced them to sleep as their bones extended, and their wings grew exponentially. 

 

It was a much simpler time then, before he was tossed down with Samael; before  _Lucifer_  had locked him up.

 

He didn’t want much, desire wasn’t his thing, but he did want one thing.

 

He wanted to go home.

 

He looks down at the sleeping demon in his lap. Cautiously his hand moves forward, and he runs his hand across Calmos’ matted hair.

 

Okay, maybe he wanted  _two_  things.

 

And perhaps a comb.

 

 

\--

 

 

Inside the white void, Lucifer barely stands.

 

His form is no longer stable and rigid but hunched over and tired.

 

“Stay still, you coward,” he says breathlessly.

 

Long gone is his red bumpy flesh, but he is now nude and covered in sweat. A red fire burns in his core, and his eyes still burn a bright cyan. But behind them isn’t unbridled rage, just normal rage and a hint of understanding that he is defeated, that he can do nothing. 

 

Still, he tries. Still, he goes forward.

 

God stands behind him, watching with a curious look on his face.

 

“I knew this would take some time, but I suppose even I greatly underestimate you sometimes, Samael,” God says.

 

Lucifer turns around slowly and shuffles towards God.

 

“That’s not my name,” he says, the energy it takes to say even that significantly reducing his speed. 

 

He reaches up to land a punch, and again it falls through empty air.

 

This time, however, Lucifer falls into the punch as he collapses flat onto the ground, tired; exhausted. 

 

A soft and dense cloud appears beneath him, dampening the thud of his fall.

 

God sighs and approaches Lucifer on the ground.

 

Lucifer turns onto his back as the cloud disappears, his chest rising and falling as a bead of sweat drips down his sternum and lands into a small pool near his navel.

 

Suddenly he’s donned in a white robe again as God approaches.

 

Lucifer reaches down with floppy arms and attempts to peel the robe off him. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want the  _stupid_  robe.

 

“Do you not desire dignity?” God asks.

 

Lucifer scoffs, “I don’t want your help,” he says, “I don’t  _need_ your help.”

 

Lucifer manages to pull the robe off him with what little strength he has and tosses it aside.

 

The second it lands on the ground, it disappears, and he can feel a familiar tightness around his waist. He glances down to find him wearing one of his boxer briefs.

 

“Does that please you more?” God says.

 

Lucifer rolls his eyes and sets his head back down onto the ground. He turns it to God, completely drained both physically and emotionally.

 

“What do you want from me?” he says, aggravated, as if it were just dawning on him that he could do nothing to fight back.

 

“I want you to keep your promise,” God says, “that is all I ask.”

 

Lucifer coughs, the spit gathering to the back of his throat as he breathes heavily. Sweat drips down his body. It lands onto a pool beneath him and dissipates quickly as if it were never there.

 

“Why must you always fight me?” God asks.

 

“Because you consistently insist on interfering in my life,” Lucifer says, catching his breath.

 

God smiles.

 

“I only offer the path, Samael.”

 

Lucifer scoffs.

 

His scoff turns into a frown, which turns into him trying to fight back tears. The sweat falls in his eyes, making his eyes tear up more. He reaches up to wipe it away.

 

He turns to God as God watches him, patiently waiting.

 

Lucifer looks around the white void. Slowly it sinks into his being that he was powerless here. Perhaps even anywhere. 

 

If Father wanted to do something, he could. All this time of fighting back was pointless. 

 

Not when he could pull Abel from the stars.

 

A wave of sheer powerlessness flows over Lucifer. It sticks to him and doesn’t go away.

 

“Why do you hate me?” he asks, tears coming to his eyes.

 

God smiles and kneels next to him.

 

“How could I ever hate a creature as beautiful as you, Samael?” he asks with a smile, “You are one of my greatest creations.”

 

Lucifer’s eyes swell up with tears.

 

“Then why did you cast me out?” he asks, “Why did you force me to Hell?”

 

God’s smile fades, and he slowly stands.

 

“Because it is written, Samael. Because you needed to learn; to understand.”

 

Lucifer’s eyes furrow, and he slowly sits up, his back hunched over.

 

“To learn what? How miserable life is? How to torture humans? How to be made out to be a pariah? A … _Devil_?!”

 

Lucifer stands up, his legs still weak, but confidence back in his stature.

 

“Do you have any idea how you have  _ruined_  my life?”

 

God smiles, “The funny thing about perspective, Samael, is it changes depending on where you are standing.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Don’ t give me that proverb bullshit. For once, can you just tell me the truth? Not what I want to hear? Not what you think I should know? The truth. The honest, undeniable truth.”

 

God nods to himself as if thinking about Lucifer’s words. He crosses his wrists behind his back.

 

“Certainly, what would you like to know?” he asks.

 

Lucifer pauses. 

 

He hadn’t expected Father to be so open to that idea. Or rather, he had an opportunity he didn’t know he would have. 

 

To know. To truly know.

 

“Or would you like me to pretend to not know what you will ask?” God says, “Even then, I never truly understand what it is you or your brother desire. Your hearts tell me one thing, your minds say another and even then your words … they betray both.” 

 

Lucifer scoffs, “You’re impossible,” he says.

 

He pauses for a second before turning to God.

 

“Why did you bring Abel back?” he asks, “Is he meant to hurt me? Or Chloe? Or-“

 

“Abel has done as I asked him,” God says, “his time with me is over, and he only has one path to follow now. His own.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “He was punished. He should have stayed punished!”

 

God furrows his eyebrows, “Punishment isn’t forever, Samael. It is only until we learn why we were punished in the first place. Abel has learned that, and therefore he deserves life – unabated – as any mortal would.”

 

Lucifer scoffs and walks away, his hands on his hips as is he had ran a marathon and was cooling down.

 

God chuckles and nods to himself, “I knew you would be difficult,” he says, “You were given my tenacity, my fire …and as much as these are the parts I love about you, they are also the parts that make it difficult for me to mold you as I would any of my children.”

 

Lucifer turns to him, unamused.

 

“Perhaps that is your problem, father, your insistence on molding me when I am my own man.”

 

God shakes his head, “Not yet, but soon. The times we find ourselves in are dire indeed, Samael. One small stone out of place could change the course of everything we’ve worked for.”

 

“You’veworked for,” Lucifer says, angrily approaching God, “When will you learn that I  _am not_  apart of your plan,” he says in defiance.

 

God smiles, “How sure you are of yourself, Samael.”

 

Lucifer stares at him, he had wanted to punch him so hard before – and he still does- but now … now he just wishes to be left alone.

 

His eyes fall.

 

Alone.

 

“You get that from your mother,” God says, smiling. 

 

His smile fades when he sees Lucifer’s eyes drop. He wasn’t paying attention.

 

He tilts his head, and the galaxy swirls behind his eyes. There they stand silently, Lucifer looking into nothingness and God looking into Lucifer.

 

“Mm,” he says as if acknowledging what he sees.

 

Lucifer’s eyes move up to him. His eyes lack clarity as if he weren’t staring at God but past him. Suddenly they are clear, and he’s back in the white void.

 

“Don’t do that,” he says, “Don’t read my mind. That is none of your business!”

 

“You are concerned about her,” God says, a frown developing on his face.

 

“You have no right!” Lucifer says.

 

“No ...,” God says an intrigue in his voice, “You are concerned about you. About leaving her.”

 

“Stop,” he says, backing away, walking away from him. 

 

He didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to confirm it. He wanted to be able to go back and pretend. 

 

Pretend that he could stay with her. Pretend that there wouldn’t be a day where she would age and die and rot. 

 

Pretend there wasn’t a day where he would have to go back to Hell and rule, never knowing her touch or her voice. 

 

Pretend that he wouldn’t spend eternity thinking about the smell of her hair or the warmth of her embrace.

 

He turns and walks away, into nothing but whiteness. He doesn’t know where he would go, but he needed to leave. He needed to get out of here.

 

“We’re done here!” he says as he sprints away from God.

 

His wings pop out, and he is airborne. He flies up, up and up until he thinks he is far away. Then he looks down to find he is only a few feet off the ground.

 

His eyebrows furrow.

 

“Perhaps you should ask me the question that is truly on your mind,” God says

 

Lucifer spins around to see God standing a few feet from him.

 

He pauses and then lowers himself onto the ground.

 

“I made this room just for you,” God says.

 

God shakes his head, “For this moment.”

 

Lucifer stands there.

 

“So, I’m stuck here?” he asks flatly.

 

“Mm,” God hums in affirmation.

 

Lucifer starts to laugh. It isn’t an amused laugh, but a shocked laughter.

 

God smiles with him.

 

“You … you trapped me,” Lucifer says.

 

God nods his head and laughs.

 

“You … you brought back Abel knowing I would come here and knowing you could trap me,” he says.

 

God raises his hands, suggesting he had been caught.

 

Lucifer’s smile suddenly falls, and he nods, his eyes wide.

 

“So what? So, you could … tell me you are disappointed? Tell me you’re sending me back to Hell? _Oh_ , or perhaps you can tell me you’re going to make the Detective fall out of love with me? Toy with my life more by making me watch her love someone else. No wait, you already did that, didn’t you?”

 

God’s smile falls, and lines form on his forehead. He shakes his head as if what he was hearing was horrifying.

 

“I thought we’ve been over this, Samael. I do not force my will onto others,” he says, “I merely provide the path.”

 

“You made her,” Lucifer says, pointing a finger, now angry again, “You made her, and then you…you made us meet, and then you-“

 

“I tilled the soil,” God says, interrupting, “But it was you who planted the seed. It was both of you who watered the seed. And now it is growing, and you want to deny it because of what? Because it is hard? Because it makes you feel things? I raised you better than that.”

 

Lucifer scoffs at the implication, “You didn’t raise me at all!”

 

God sighs and turns his eyes away, thinking. He turns back to Lucifer.

 

“Samael,” he says, his tone oddly weary, it catches Lucifer off guard.

 

“I have been lenient and permitting and … patient with you, but I have to admit my patience is running thin.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “Lenient? Patience? Please spare me with your identity crisis.”

 

God’s eyes move from a static white to a deep, dark black speckled with moving stars. His pupils spiral like a black hole, and the room suddenly feels smaller, or perhaps God has gotten bigger.

 

“Enough,” God says, “Now is not the time Samael.”

 

“Time for wh-“he says before pausing as a grumble in his stomach catches him off guard.

 

“We are close, can you not feel it?” God says, the spiral in his eyes intensifying.

 

“Father,” Lucifer says, annoyed and disinterested, “What are you-“

 

He gags for a second before calming himself. He coughs, clearing his throat.

 

“Mm,” he hums, before opening his mouth to say something else.

 

Instead of words, a black sticky tar falls out of his mouth in a steady stream. He falls to his knees, his eyes watering as he vomits up the substance.

 

“Can you not feel it?” God asks, staring at Lucifer, walking closer until he is kneeling beside him.

 

 Lucifer grabs on to God’s leg, seeking something to steady himself as an endless torrent of black tar falls from his mouth. It pools beneath him and moves like it is alive. 

 

It seems alive as it moves to stay in the shadow of his body like it is taking shelter from a storm.

 

“We are so close,” God says a strange love in his eyes, despite him clearly not happy with Lucifer.

 

Lucifer stops vomiting and spits, trying to clear that taste from his mouth. The tar beneath him dissipates, absorbing itself into the white ground beneath him.

 

He coughs and gags until his arms give way, his body suddenly weak again.

 

Lucifer turns onto his back, catching his breath again and coughing, clearing the substance from his throat. He turns and spits before turning his eyes to God. 

 

God stares at him, watching, waiting.

 

“What is happening to me?” he asks, between deep breaths, trying to get his breathing back on track.

 

God smiles as if he had been waiting for that question.

 

“Truly,” Lucifer says, “What are you doing to me?”

 

God scoffs and stands, “I told you, I only provide the path Samael. You are becoming what you have always been. What you were created to be.”

 

Lucifer looks up at him, waiting for an answer. 

 

Suddenly though, he is overcome with fear. He doesn’t want to know. Knowing made it real, it meant he must face whatever was happening instead of ignoring, instead of choosing to view the more pleasant things in his life. Still, curiosity outweighs his fear.

 

God sees the way Lucifer looks at him and shakes his head.

 

“Have you never wondered?” God asks, “Why you and you alone are so enamored with mortals? Wanting to be with them? Wanting to live with them. Wanting to think, feel …perhaps even go so far as to fall in love with one?”

 

Lucifer’s eyebrows furrow, taking in what God is saying.

 

“Why you and you alone were tasked with their punishment? With spending an eternity watching all the ways they convince themselves they are guilty? Why you are concerned with justice, with protecting the innocent from those who seek to harm them? Why you chose – out of all the women I’ve tossed your way – to fall in love with the Detective?’

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”

 

“You were kicked out for wanting freedom, a choice like Mortals. Wanting to be equal.”

 

“Just tell me!” Lucifer yells, impatience in his tone. He wanted to rip the band-aid off.

 

“What am I becoming?” he asks, stability in his question that leaves no room for misinterpretation.

 

God is silent. He tilts his head, looking into Lucifer. Trying to match his words to his desires. He stares for a moment before smiling, pleased with what he finds.

 

“Mortal,” God says, finally. 

 

Lucifer’s eyes rise to shock, then fall into anger.

 

“What?!” he says, willing himself to stand on weakened knees.

 

 “You wanted freedom, to be your own man,” God says, “what better way to experience that than by being mortal?”

 

“That is  _not_  what I asked for!” Lucifer yells.

 

“We can’t always choose what forms our desire comes in Lucifer. I figured you, of any, would understand”

 

“That is not-“he begins angrily.

 

Lucifer pauses. His anger falls to silence.

 

“You … you used my name,” he says after moments of staring.

 

God pauses, replaying his words in his head.

 

“Hmm,” he says, “That I did.”

 

They stand there for a moment, the shock in Lucifer’s eyes not wearing off. God tilts his head a small smile on his face.

 

“You are speechless,” he says, “I believe that to be a first for you and me.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, his mouth agape, not sure what to say to that.

 

“Mm, I believe you’ve come to the end of your visit,” God says.

 

Lucifer shakes his head and opens his mouth to say something when God disappears. He pauses and turns around, looking for God.

 

“I,” he says, his brain running in circles, “What …. Bu … what?”

 

_Mortal?!_

 

Slowly, music notes start to fill his ears, the volume low at first until suddenly it is loud and clear. The notes are soft and gentle and … soothing. Lucifer pauses.

 

“The song of nurture?” he asks, “Really? I’m not a fledgling anymore Father you can’t just –“

 

Suddenly, he opens his mouth and lets out a big yawn.

 

“You can’t just tell me I’m Mortal and then –“he continues, as another yawn takes him.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he says as his eyelids flutter, and he collapses to his knees. 

 

His eyes close completely, and his body falls flat onto the ground. The second it hits the ground, suddenly he’s lying face down in his penthouse. 

 

It is silent here, and still nighttime.

 

 He sleeps a deep, rejuvenating sleep without care for the cold or hard surface he sleeps on.

 

**\--**

 

The door to Natalie’s apartment opens, and she shuffles in. She closes and locks the door behind her before sliding her feet out of her shoes. 

 

She places them into their spot on a shoe rack near the door. She sets her purse onto a side table and tosses her keys into a bowl right next to it. She shuffles into the kitchen, unbuttoning her blouse slowly. 

 

She gets through two buttons before she approaches her fridge and opens it. Then, she reaches in to pull out a beer bottle before closing the door with her elbow and twisting the cap off. 

 

She tosses the cap into the sink and takes a long sip of the beer. One hand holds the bottle up, while the other reaches to pull a strand of her curly brunette hair past her ears. 

 

She lowers the bottle, taking a breath before she lets go of a soft burp that brings up a little bit of the beer. She pulls her hand to her mouth, surprised, and sets the bottle on the counter near the sink.

 

She shuffles into her bedroom, then enters her bathroom, where she cuts on the shower and begins to disrobe.

 

She waits until the water heats up before stepping beneath the warm cascade. She puts her head in first, and her hair takes on water, flattening against her head. She reaches up and pulls it out of her eyes before washing her face.

 

It had been a long day. There were too many considerations to be made. Between having to go to the wedding, having to deal with Ms. Smith - both professionally and personally - and having Mistress on the back of her mind, she was drained and tense.

 

They were going to find out. Natalie had tried to be so careful, but they were going to find out. The most she could do is hold them at bay, perhaps help lead Detective Decker and Mr. Morningstar in a direction that had nothing to do with that voicemail.

 

She sighs, reaching out to grab a washcloth and a bar of soap. She had brought work home with her, as usual. She had to stop doing that.

 

Moments later, she shuffles back out of her bedroom, wearing a tank top - sans bra - and a pair of short, seafoam green shorts. Her dark curly hair is wet but not dripping and is just dry enough to not stick to the side of her face as she walks to the kitchen. 

 

She grabs the beer from the counter before moving into her living room and grabbing the laptop off the coffee table.

 

She plops down into her sofa, her legs folded beneath her, and places the laptop in her lap. Here, one hand holds her beer, and the other scrolls through her emails. 

 

She mindlessly scrolls, seemingly numb to everything. She sighs and brings her beer up to her mouth, her eyes looking out into the Los Angeles night through the large window in her living room.

 

She takes a sip and looks around her apartment. 

 

It was silent, empty. 

 

She is sure Liz and Maggie’s home wasn’t silent or empty.

 

Hell, maybe even Ms. Smith’s home wasn’t silent or empty.

 

She pauses.

 

_Ms. Smith._

 

She scoffs, shaking her head as she takes another sip of her beer.

 

Ms. Smith made her feel pitiful. Like she  _needed_  her to swoop in and save the day.

 

She shakes her head. She would have done fine by herself, right? 

 

She would have looked far better, being alone than pretending to have chosen someone like Ms. Smith.

 

_God,_  what would they think when she shows up to the wedding by herself? That she couldn’t keep a girlfriend? That she was some bitter old spinster?

 

Clearly, she couldn’t take Ms. Smith to the wedding with her, that was a no brainer.

 

Ms. Smith was crass and rude. She had little concern for directions or law, etiquette or rules. She was completely … untethered.

 

She pauses again, briefly thinking about what Ms. Smith would even wear to a wedding? Natalie wonders if she cleaned up nicely. 

 

Then she thinks about what she wore to dinner. That top with the open back?

 

_God_ , she thinks, she would  _love_  to tether her.

 

She takes another sip of her beer and turns her eyes back down to her computer.

 

She  _did_  have a nice ass.

 

_Hmm_ , she hums, nodding to herself as she goes back to scrolling through her favorite news site. 

 

She takes another sip as she scrolls and reads. 

 

Eventually, the beer is gone, and she’s lost all interest in what is on the screen. She leans forward, placing the laptop on the coffee table and stands. 

 

She walks over to the kitchen and opens a cabinet beneath her sink. She tosses the empty glass bottle into a container with other glass bottles and closes the cabinet. 

 

She sighs and reaches up to pull her hair out of her face as she walks towards the bedroom.

 

Her bedroom is just as neat and organized as the rest of her apartment - otherwise known as boring. She approaches her bed and sits on the edge of it. 

 

She seems to be deep in thought for a moment before she turns to the small dresser next to her bed. She reaches out to the bottom drawer and pulls it out, revealing several velvety drawstring bags. 

 

They have different colors and different sizes, but they all look organized and taken care of. She looks at the bags for a moment before she reaches in and pulls out a dark purple bag. 

 

She closes the drawer, pulls the drawstring on the bag before reaching in and pulling out an indigo vibrator. She sets the bag on the side table before standing and entering the bathroom.

 

\--

In his penthouse, Lucifer’s eyes slowly open, and he looks around to find himself lying on the living room floor. He turns and looks around, trying to figure out how he had gotten there. 

 

Slowly it dawns on him where he had been and what God had said. He sits up, then leans forwards on his knees until he is standing in the center of his penthouse.

 

It is as he left it, the evidence of his disastrous date with Chloe still sits on the coffee table. He looks around, surveying every inch of this place.

 

It used to be his castle, his refuge from the city below. It used to be the place he came to drink, to ravish women, and to enjoy the view. It felt like home at one point, but now he can’t shake the feeling that it felt like a relic of the life he had before.

 

It felt like he was standing in the penthouse of someone else, having the fabric of someone else’s carpet stick up between his toes.

 

He looks around, an unimaginable sadness in his system. He shakes his head, this was it. His absolute rock bottom. Even this space wasn’t his anymore. He didn’t feel right in Hell, the Silver City was not an option he’d be willing to accept, and now, this – his penthouse – felt vacant and strange.

 

_Mortal,_  he scoffs to himself.

 

That was a joke. Right?

 

There is no way Father would make him mortal. 

 

He was an  _angel_  for fuck’s sake. 

 

He was a member of God’s family. 

 

Even when he had denied that it was still the truth. He was an angel and would always be an angel. 

 

God wouldn’t just … toss that away, would he?

 

He pauses and tilts his head. It reminds him of his fall. When the anger faded away, and he was left feeling lost.

 

He hadn’t felt this lost or this alone in a very long time.

 

He wishes she were here, to hold him, to make him feel something other than the emptiness in his chest.

 

_Chloe_ , he thinks.

 

He looks around for a moment, this place feeling like a hotel and not his home. 

 

He wanted to be with Chloe. 

 

He sighs and looks around. He nods to himself before he decides he doesn’t want to be here anymore. 

 

He turns and looks for his sandals before realizing he was wearing them downstairs. He must have left them …

 

He pauses.

 

_Shit._

 

He left Abel.

 

He briefly considers going back but doesn’t. He didn’t care for Abel, not after what he did. If God wanted him back, alive, and existing, then he would figure out a way to do that. He was done. 

 

He was done fighting. 

 

_He gives up._

 

\--

 

Outside the gates of the silver city, Abel sits – his knees tucked up to his chest - right outside the golden web. Michael and a few Angels stand, watching him.

 

“What is wrong with this one?” one angel says to the other.

 

“I’m not sure,” the angel returns.

 

“Are you sure he is the one who convinced Iridius to teach him the song?” the first angel says again.

 

“Quiet,” Michael says, turning to them.

 

“It is not your place to judge,” he says, chastising them. 

 

They nod and lower their heads. 

 

Michael turns back to Abel, waiting.

 

“Where did Samael and Father go?” an angel asks Michael.

 

Michael doesn’t respond. Partly because it isn’t their place to keep track of Father, but also because he doesn’t know. 

 

He wishes he knew.

 

Suddenly, the angels are silent and stand straight up at attention. Michael turns to see the form of God standing next to him. 

 

God stares out towards Abel.

 

“Father,” Michael says, surprised. 

 

No matter how many times he’s witnessed it, its always startling at first, how God just ... reappears any place he desires.

 

“He’s been doing that since you’ve been gone,” Michael says, turning back to Abel.

 

God approaches Abel and steps outside the golden web. Abel hears him approaching and looks up. He notices his form, and immediately his arms loosen their grip on his legs.

 

He stares up at God like a puppy would its mother. He waits to be given direction, anything that would tell him why. 

 

Why had he been plucked from the corners of the universe? 

 

Why had he been reassembled from the soil of earth? 

 

Why had he been placed in the heart of Los Angeles, the last place he would want to be?

 

Instead, God just looks at him, peering deep into him as if searching.

 

“What am I to do?” Abel asks, after getting nothing for too long.

 

“You gave me no task. No direction or purpose. If you are going to make me human again, I need a purpose.”

 

“Where has it gone, Abel?” God asks, a sincere confusion in his face. 

 

Something had not gone according to plan.

 

“What?” Abel asks.

 

The galaxy spins in God’s eyes as he crouches to eye level with Abel. He stares deep into him. So deep, Abel can feel it. 

 

Like someone is walking through the reeds of his existence. Like soft fingers trailing through his hair, searching for a tick.

 

Then there is a stillness.

 

God groans, displeased.

 

“I see,” he says to himself.

 

He stands slowly and turns his head as if thinking, “As I suspected, the hounds ate it,” he says.

 

“Ate, what?” Abel asks.

 

God smiles and turns to him, “No matter, I can make you a new one.”

 

Abel sits there, confused more than he should be. 

 

What was God talking about?

 

God kneels back down and places a hand on Abel’s shoulder.

 

A warm, golden light arches from his fingertips. It washes onto Abel’s shoulder before crawling up his neck and into the filaments of his hair. 

 

A golden net cascades over him, and suddenly the worry and fear in his eyes fall, and he stares at God as if he were a familiar – and friendly – face.

 

God stands as Abel is suddenly filled with a solidity in him, the overwhelming panic behind his eyes fading into something more logical – more concrete.

 

“Go on then,” God says to Abel, “Go back to Earth.”

 

Abel shakes his head and slowly stands.

 

“And do what? You haven’t told me what it is you ask of me,” Abel says.

 

God nods,” I thought it was obvious, Abel. Don’t tell me the dogs ate your reasoning abilities too?”

 

Abel shakes his head. Okay, now he has too many questions.

 

Abel opens his mouth to ask the first one before God speaks again.

 

“ _Live_ ,” he says, “Enjoy Life. You’ve satisfied your purpose, now go enjoy your reward.”

 

God disappears, and Abel is left standing there. He stands face to face with Michael and the angels.

 

 “So …” Abel says, trying to figure out what is going on.

 

Michael turns his head to the side, his eyes focused as if hearing something in his head. He nods.

 

“Yes, Father,” he says before turning and heading back through the gate. 

 

The other angels follow, and the gate closes behind them.

 

Abel is left standing there, alone. 

 

He looks around, turning to see if there is something he is missing. 

 

Maybe like an … elevator or staircase or something. There is nothing.

 

He furrows his eyebrows.

 

“How the hell-“ he begins right as the floor disappears below him, sending him plummeting through space like a shooting star.

 

He falls and falls, his screams getting louder until suddenly he’s surrounded by fire. It doesn’t touch him, doesn’t sear his skin, but it’s there.

 

He continues to fall until suddenly he comes into a dead stop as he hits the ground with a thud. It sends a ball of dust and dirt flying into the air. The thud is hefty and is loud to shut up nearby singing crickets.

 

Every bone in his body should be broken, or rather he should be dead.

Instead, he is very much alive as he groans. The dust begins to settle over him.

 

He sits up, coughing the fine particles of earth out of his lungs. Through the cloud, he can make out the lights of the city of Los Angeles. 

 

He coughs as the dust continues to settle onto his skin, his hair, and into his eyes.

 

“Ah, Fuck!” he says, reaching up to rub his eyes that are burning now.

 

He stands up, the jacket he was wearing somehow still intact. He pulls the fabric of the jacket up to his eyes and wipes.

 

It doesn’t do much, but it helps a little. He staggers out of the giant cloud of dust, into more breathable air, before turning to the city in front of him.

 

There is realizes he is deep in the hills overlooking the city.

 

He looks out at the city for way too long as if weighing his options. Then he nods to himself.

 

"Okay,” he says reluctantly as he starts to descend the hill.

 

\--

 

 

A little while later, in Chloe’s apartment, Maze sits in her room. She sits on the edge of her bed, sharpening her knives and watching videos on her phone. 

 

Her bedroom door is wide open, and the living room behind her is dark and still. She sets the sharpener down and leans forward onto a nearby side table and picks up a beer. She is mid-sip when she hears a timid knock on the front door. She turns her eyes to it.

 

On the other side of the door, Lucifer stands with his hands in his pockets. The last time he had shown up at the Detective’s place unannounced, he had to spill his heart through her door. 

 

He didn’t want to have to do that now. 

 

He didn’t want to have to talk about anything, least of all his  _feelings_. 

 

He just … he didn’t want to be  _alone_.

 

The door opens, and he is confronted by an annoyed Maze. Her annoyance drops when she sees him. 

 

She looks at him for a moment, and he looks at her. His eyes drift down to the beer in one hand and a knife in the other.

 

“You’re upset,” he says, his head tilted in surprise.

 

“Nice to see you too,” she says as she turns and walks back to her room.

 

He enters and shuts the door behind him, making sure it is locked.

 

“You only sharpen your knives after a torture session, or when you’re upset,” he says.

 

“Your girlfriend is upstairs sleeping,” Maze says, not interested in having a conversation.

 

“So you’re not going to tell me?” he gathers.

 

Maze looks at him, a “No” in her eyes before she shuts her bedroom door. He nods and continues slowly up the steps. She will tell him when she feels like it.

 

“Very well,” he says, thinking he’s probably had enough  _talking_  for one lifetime.

 

Inside Chloe’s bedroom, Chloe lays in bed deep into her sleep. The door gently opens, and lucifer pokes his head in.

 

“Detective?” he asks, his voice low.

 

She doesn’t respond, and he walks in before gently closing the door behind him.

 

He approaches the foot of the bed, peeping over to see if she is awake.

 

“Chloe?” he asks again, his voice still low.

 

Still, she doesn’t respond.

 

He sighs and slips his sandals off before approaching the other side of the bed, the side closer to the bathroom door. Here, he peels the shirt off his frame and folds it before setting it on the side table next to him. 

 

Then he reaches down and unbuttons his shorts. He lets them fall to his legs, revealing he is still wearing the boxers God had put on him. He takes them, folds them neatly, and sets them on the side table. Then, he lifts the sheets and climbs into bed.

 

The jolting of the bed as he climbs in wakes Chloe, and she turns to him as he is pulling himself into the big spoon position.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks groggily as he drapes his arm around her, “What are you doing here? What time is it?”

 

She turns to look at her clock. It's almost midnight.

 

He pauses, suddenly wondering if he made a poor choice in judgment by coming here uninvited.

 

“I … I didn’t want to sleep alone tonight. I hope that’s okay?” he asks, a regret starting to filter into his words.

 

She exhales, followed by a tired hum, and turns around before pulling his arm around her further and scooting into her position as little spoon.

 

“Of course it’s okay,” she says, her voice gravely and slow.

 

He smiles and leans in. They get into their sleeping position and lay there for a moment. She closes her eyes, but he doesn’t close his. He watches her and pulls her closer until her body and his body are sandwiched together.

 

“I had a talk with my father,” he says, his voice low, “and I found out what is happening to me.”

 

“Mmm,” she hums, acknowledging she is listening.

 

He had promised himself he wouldn’t talk, that he was done with that, but somehow even a silent and tired Chloe made him want to reveal his secrets. She was comfort, and he needed to be comforted.

 

“I … should be afraid, but I feel like everything I do follows some path he has for me. All I’ve done so far is challenge him at every turn, and it has gotten me nowhere.”

 

She hums, her eyes still closed.

 

“What is the point of fighting it anymore?” he asks.

 

She exhales and shifts herself in their cuddling, moving closer to him.

 

“Sometimes you just have to pick your battles, Lucifer,” she says, her eyes still closed, and her voice still groggy, “You said yourself you think he likes to see you go crazy so … maybe don’t react?” 

 

“Hmm,” he hums, a soft smile on his face.

 

She slides her fingers in the spaces between his fingers and locks them together.

 

“What is it?” she asks, curiosity in her voice, “why are you going through all of this?”

 

_Mortality_ , he thinks. His smile falls.

 

Would she still want him if she knew he was becoming mortal? If all the excitement of a world outside her own suddenly disappeared? If he just became some hotshot club owner and nothing more?

 

He wants to worry, he wants to fret. That’s been his default for so long, to worry about what would happen. Yet, his mind can’t stop thinking about the hope in his spirit. 

 

_He was becoming mortal._

 

It wasn’t what he wanted, sure. He was used to being impervious. To living life in an endless cycle. It was one of the things that worried him about being with her, the fact that he was immortal, and she wasn’t. He was afraid of what would happen to him when she left this world.

 

He pauses, a sudden realization dawning on him like the sky had just opened up, and he was breathing fresh air for the first time.

 

He was becoming mortal, and  _she_  is mortal. 

 

He would no longer have to worry about what would happen when she was on her death bed, and he was still young and spry. He could stay with her and grow old with her and not have to run away when people realized he wasn’t aging. 

 

Would he age now? 

 

Would his hair grow grey and his bones become weak? 

 

He had died many times before, but suddenly the thought of slowly dying, of growing old and feeble, of death being the end of it all makes him … excited. 

 

He was tired of this long, painful life. He wanted to end it with her in his arms. With her old eyes staring back at him, weary from years of happiness and love and everything he could – everything he  _would_  - offer her.

 

Most importantly, he could do it with her. 

 

He didn’t have to worry about leaving her in two or three years.

 

About coming in and uprooting her life to connect it with his. 

 

That worry drains from him, and he’s left with just this, this moment of being in her bedroom. 

 

Of wondering how many more mornings he would wake to her here. 

 

Of how many more nights he would lay next to her, whispering his troubles into her ear and having her calm him, satiate his desire for peace.

 

His heart starts to beat rapidly as he thinks about it, excited for the possibility of days to come.

 

She knew him, really knew who he was and what he had done. Now the one thing that had truly separated them was disappearing. He was going to be a mortal.

 

He had been given a new life, and he wanted to spend it with her, embracing every ghastly and undesirable thing. Every horrible feeling and disgustingly sticky surface. Every storytime, and every silly fight. 

 

That thought leaves a smile on his face, but it is short-lived. A new thought centers in his mind and makes his smile fall.

 

_Was his punishment over?_

 

Or was this another sick twist in at thousand endless barrages of regret?

 

Chloe’s eyes slowly open, and she looks forward for a moment as if thinking. He hadn’t answered her yet.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks, “What are-“

 

She pauses. 

 

Her thought process cut short by something else, something poking her in the butt. Was she … feeling what she thinks is feeling? 

 

She turns her head down towards his hands and starts to rotate her hips, backing herself into him. It snaps him out of his thought process as it slowly dawns on him what she is doing and why she is doing it.

 

His heart starts to beat faster for another reason now, as blood continues to flow unrestricted into a strong and rising erection.

 

He responds by grinding his own hips into her. 

 

Slowly, she turns her torso to him, glancing over her shoulder to find his eyes watching her, gauging what she might say or do.

 

He pulls his hands down from loosely arcing around her stomach. They move down and land onto her hip bone, where he holds her onto him as he continues his grind. There they lay for a few moments, in silence, grinding into each other as the tingling develops between her legs. 

 

“You were saying something,” she says, her eyes meeting his with a grin on her face.

 

“Do you  _really_  want to talk right now?” he asks.

 

She bites her lip. She didn’t want to wake up the whole block  _or_ make him think it was as easy as climbing into bed with her. 

 

She definitely didn’t want to have to explain it to Trixie in the morning. 

 

But his body continues to grind against hers.  

 

She can’t get out of her mind how easy it would be for him to slip inside of her right now. To rock against her until she fell apart in his arms.

 

She grabs his hand and moves it off her hip before flipping her body, so she faces him. He falls back, away from her, as she adjusts herself. His back lies flat against the bed.

 

Their eyes meet again, and he doesn’t say anything, he just watches her. Her eyes drift down to the sheet to see the outline of his cock lying proudly between his hips.

 

He watches her, emboldened by her interest, but cautioned by his own reservations.

 

He had come to her apartment, unannounced, and climbed into bed with her. He didn’t want her to think that he expected anything but sleep. He didn’t want her to feel like she was something to be had.

 

They say nothing as her hand snakes beneath the covers before tossing them off his waist. 

 

Even with no light, she can make out his form as she reaches down his body, slides her hand between the waistband of his boxer briefs, and wraps her hand around his cock. 

 

When she grabs it, the tingling between her legs increases, and he inhales with a moan. He lets his head relax against the pillow as her skin connects with his.

 

She strokes him, her touch gentle yet firm. He was harder and bigger than her memory had served her. She had thought about feeling him again, ever since that morning, when she got back from the silver city. But she didn’t recall his size or the strength behind his erection. Only that he felt like home. 

 

Only that she felt safe and anchored.

 

She continues her strokes before letting go and attempting to pull the fabric of his boxers off with one hand. 

 

"Take those off," she says, realizing she couldn't do it alone.

 

He reaches down and hooks his hand beneath his waistband before lifting himself off the bed and peeling his boxers down his legs. He tosses them to the side and lays back down.

 

She smiles and reaches out, gripping his cock again. He exhales as she touches him again, his eyes closing.

 

She watches in awe as the skin on his uncut cock gathers at the head of his penis each time before she pulls it back to reveal the light pink and sensitive skin beneath. He starts to rotate his hips into her palm.

 

She tries to match the pace of his hips as he slowly rotates them, pumping gently into her fist. When their speeds match, she starts to notice his breathing become louder, and a moan escapes his lips. It makes every nerve in her body tingle, and a weighty lust fall into her eyes. 

 

He turns to her, his eyelids heavy with want. There they stare at each other again, her grip never waning and her eyes never leaving his.

 

She places her right arm on the bed and pushes, lowering herself along his body until her head is close to his pelvis. Here she continues to stroke up, her mouth getting close to his cock. 

 

Close enough that she can stick her tongue out and taste him. 

 

Close enough that every time she pulls the skin back to reveal the sensitive nerve bundle of the head of his penis, she trails her tongue across it. He responds favorably with light grunts.

 

His breathing becomes louder as his hips continue to rotate, and a hum escapes his body.

 

He reaches down and gathers her loose hair into a ponytail, getting it out of her way as she opens wide and takes him into her mouth.

 

“Ohh,” he moans, his head tilting back onto the pillow. 

 

She continues to lick and suck as much of him as she can. With what she can’t fit into her mouth, she strokes in unison until her push and pulls match the bobbing of her head.

 

A moan catches in his throat as his hips start to pump into her movements. She hums. The enjoyment of this, not just his own.

 

Her hum sends a vibration down his cock and up into a pit in his abdomen. 

 

Here it spreads to every limb in his body like the explosion in a firework. 

It tempts him with the promise of release.

 

“Chloe,” he says between bated breath.

 

“Mmm,” she hums, a strange enjoyment from hearing her name on his lips. 

 

She continues to suck and lick him, her eyes closed in concentration as her free hand slips between her legs and inside the band of her pajama pants. She wasn’t a blowjob girl at all. In fact, it was her least favorite activity. 

 

Yet, something about him; about feeling him rise to the occasion in her mouth was making her wetter than she imagined it would. 

 

It  _was_  Lucifer, after all, she had no doubt she was not the best blowjob he has had. 

 

There were far more skilled at this than she is, but the noises he is making, and the way his body is moving makes her  _believe_  she was his best.

 

It’s enough to make her enjoy every second of him in her mouth.

 

She continues to take him into her mouth as he matches the rhythm of her strokes with the gyration of his hips. He holds her ponytail in his hands, trying hard not to put pressure on her head and failing.

 

She looks up at him and removes her hand from his cock. He takes this as a sign and places more pressure on her head, pushing and pulling it while using his hips to fuck her mouth.

 

He tilts his head back and groans as he feels her now free hand climb up his abdomen, gently grazing his skin. 

 

He tilts his head back to her to watch.  

 

He pushes too hard on her head, and she gags before coughing. He stops, briefly pulled out of his daze as she sits up.

 

“Sorry!” he says. 

 

She sits up and chuckles, wiping the saliva from her lips.

 

She climbs up and straddles him.

 

“We’ll have to work on my gag reflex,” she coos as she leans in and kisses him. 

 

He reaches up and holds onto her body, grinding himself into the fabric of her pajama pants as they passionately kiss one another.

 

She had meant to sleep, to shed the stress of a long day in dreams, but this was a much better stress reliever. 

 

Her desire to sleep is replaced by her desire to feel him inside of her again. 

 

This was the only one of his erections that she had the time and place to do anything about, and she was not about to let it go to waste.

 

She grinds against him until they are both rubbing against one another, their breaths hot and heavy.

 

They weren’t teenagers, frottage wasn’t new or exciting. But the anticipation in their body, for what both consider to be long overdue, overpours. It overpours until their rhythms are matched, and their breathing is raspy. 

 

Sure it was just dry-humping, but there was nothing dry about what was happening between her legs and Lucifer notices.

 

“I love how wet you get,” Lucifer says between breaths.

 

She doesn’t respond. Instead, she climbs off him and quickly peels off her pajama pants and underwear, tossing them onto the floor nearby.

 

He watches, his hand stroking himself.

 

Then she climbs back on him, leaning down to kiss him again before going back to grinding against him. Her lips fall on either side of his cock, her wetness covering his length and making him audibly groan. 

 

She was warm and soft and wet, and it was all the things his body needed. Still, he needed more.

 

She leans down to kiss him, her lips frantically devouring every bit of his lips, then moving to his neck as her breathing increases, and a soft moan escapes her lips.

 

It heats his blood even more. He wanted to hear more of those sounds, but he also didn’t want to wake the neighborhood or the child.

 

“Can you be quiet?” he asks, already understanding the caveats of their encounter.

 

She nods, unsure about her answer, but sure she wouldn’t dare do anything to stop what is happening. 

 

_This_  was the Lucifer she had wanted. 

 

The Lucifer who shared his emotions and slept with her close, was great.

 

He was what she wanted from him all along, to feel safe and wanted and loved. 

 

But she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

 

She didn’t want to just sleep in the same bed. She was patient with him, and he with her, because they loved one another. 

 

But she was done being patient, and from the feel of him, so was he.

 

She wanted him to show her what she had been missing. What he had shown all those other women before her. She had his heart, and now she wanted everything else.

 

“Did you bring your condoms?” she asks, her body still rubbing against his

 

He looks at her like a deer in headlights. 

 

 “I … I hadn’t intended -,” he begins.

 

She smiles before leaning over towards the side table on which her gun sits and pulling the drawer open.

 

 “I might have some condoms in here,” she says.

 

He frowns but decides it probably isn’t best to argue about the condoms right now. 

 

She sifts through the drawer for a moment before pulling out a row of four condoms. She tears one off before leaning back and opening the package with her teeth. 

 

He continues to grind against her, holding onto her hips for leverage. He grunts, a wave of pleasure hitting him. 

 

She chuckles at his impatience as she slides the rubbery ring from its package and tosses the wrapper to the side.

 

She pulls away from him and leans back before reaching down and grabbing his cock. He watches as she slides the condom onto his dick. 

 

It’s tight, but he supposes that is how it is supposed to feel.

 

With one hand, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. The other pulls his erection away from his body and positions it below her.

 

Slowly, she bears down. 

 

She inhales as he slides in and reaches out to place a hand on his chest, trying to control the speed at which he enters her. 

 

He groans and rests his head back on the pillow. She felt just as he imagined she would; warm and tight.

 

 She continues to bear down, sliding himself further into her until she pauses, trying to get accustomed to him inside of her.

 

He becomes impatient and bucks his hips. She gasps and pulls herself off him before slapping him lightly on the chest. He is bigger than she remembered.

 

“Go slow,” she says.

 

“Darling, you had no problem accepting me before,” he says.

 

“Well, I’m not …  _drunk_ this time, am I?”

 

He sighs and lays back.

 

“Fine, I will stay still,” he says.

 

She again pulls a strand of hair behind her ear and straddles him again. She reaches down to position him before again bearing down onto him. 

 

He lays there, still, making a big deal to insist he won't move until she is ready.

 

She bears down on him slowly before rising up and bearing down again, sliding him in and out of her in small intervals. 

 

Her body puts up less and less resistance until she is comfortably sitting on his lap, and he is fully inside of her.

 

She takes it upon herself to rise and fall from his lap, letting go of a soft moan.

 

He reaches up and lightly places his hand on her hips, guiding her body as she rides him.

 

“Can I move now?” he asks, staring between her legs and watching as her body makes his dick disappear.

 

She lets go another moan, and on the back of that rides a soft, “Uh-huh.”

 

He starts to pump his hips onto her rhythm, sending him deeper into her each time she falls onto his lap.

 

She sets both her hands on his chest, steadying herself as she speeds her riding. The bed starts to squeak.

 

“You feel so good,” she coos beneath bated breath.

 

“Likewise, Darling,” he says, watching as she uses his body for her own pleasure.

 

The sight and sound heats his blood.

 

She continues to ride him faster and faster until her breathing is loud, and a not-so-soft moan escapes her lips that is louder than it should be.

 

“You said you could be quiet,” he says, pausing.

 

“Sorry,” she moans, the apology preceding a low hum as her hips start to grind into his, begging him to do something,  _anything_.

 

“You just …  _fuck_ , you feel so good,”

 

He smiles and sits up as she leans back to account for this new angle. 

 

He wraps his arms around her back as she continues to grind against him.

 

He leans in to kiss her and her hips gyrating beneath him. They sinking him in and out of her without him doing anything. He doesn't move. He sits real still as she frantically starts to grind against him. She moans as he breathes heavily in her ears. 

 

“Please,” she begs, the anticipation _killing_  her.

 

He chuckles warmly, delighted. 

 

He leans forward, setting her down on her back as he peels his legs from under her. She crosses her arms and reaches down to peel the shirt off of her. It pulls up over her breasts and over her neck before she tosses it aside.

 

Meanwhile, Lucifer leans back on his knees and pulls her body closer to his. He drapes her legs over his shoulders before he slowly gyrates his hips, burying his cock into her in slow, long pumps.

 

She bites her lip, stifling the moan she wants to make. Immediately she brings a hand down to start rubbing her clit frantically. He reaches a hand up and swats her hand away, annoyed at her impatience.

 

He pulls her legs down to sit on either side of his hips before leaning forward, placing his body weight on her and pinning her to the bed. She responds by wrapping her arms and legs around his back.

 

“I’ve only just started,” he says, cooing in her ear, “Don’t worry, you’ll get there. Many times over, in fact.”

 

He continues his gently thrust into her. Again, they are slow, long, and deep. Chloe holds onto him in a way that suggests he not go anywhere like he would dare leave her now.

 

There they lay, his body as close to hers as she can get it, and her grip increasingly tightening around his back.

 

She leans forward and bites his shoulder, trying to stifle the moan she wants to escape as he continues his moderately paced pumps.

 

His breath is heavy, his eyes shut as each new thrust becomes easy; her body lubricating every one of his movements.

 

She was warm and receptive, and every inch of skin he touched was electrifying. Even with the condom, she was delightful. 

 

He supposes having the condom was a benefit in this situation. It had been a month since the last time he ejaculated, and despite him being prepared for this, he wasn’t. 

 

He could feel the pit of tension already developing in his gut, that pit that signaled his own climax.

 

He didn’t want to cum just yet though, they had so much time to make up for.

 

He wanted to show her what she had been missing.

 

He wanted to ravage her. 

 

He wanted to hear every delightful scream and moan her body could produce, or rather, he wanted to watch her try and suppress them.

 

He is deliberately soft and gentle with her. Both for fear she will make noise to wake up her spawn and end their rendezvous so shortly, but also because it is the first time he was truly inside her. 

 

No fog, no interruptions, no pesky impotence. It was just them.

 

Him and her, together. 

 

He had thought about this moment, how wild it would be. 

 

How he would pull out every wicked desire and wonderful kink from her. 

 

But right now he didn’t want that. 

 

He wanted her as she is now, before he did all of that. 

 

He wanted to know what she felt like before he had a chance to  _ruin_ other men for her.

 

 He wanted to explore every inch of her body, take his time in a different way than he usually takes his time. 

 

He wants to marvel at her body. 

 

He wanted to worship her as if she were his only religion. 

 

He wants to feel every single millimeter, both inside and outside, to learn what made her …  _her_.

 

So far, he is not at all surprised to find that she feels  _amazing._

 

Just as he had imagined and remembered her. 

 

The way her body feels, the way she clings to him, and the way her breath hits the side of his ears with each of his thrusts, heats an already hot core in his body. It makes him not want to stop. It makes him want to please her more.

 

She clings to his body, like a koala clings to a tree as he continues to deliver deep, and now moderately placed strokes. 

 

She can feel every inch of him as he slides into and out of her. It wasn’t about the pressure or the weight of his body, but the skin to skin contact that makes her feel him in her toes.

 

She had imagined sex with Lucifer Morningstar, that was clear. She had touched herself and turned it into a “What If” scenario in her head. Made it something to dream of but never to happen.

 

All she had heard of him was that he gave women pleasure, spent a night with them that they would never forget. Linda said that was a detachment there, that sex with him was akin to taking out the trash.

 

She had thought sex with lucifer would be …  _physically_ amazing but emotionally stunted.

 

But here she was, stuck to him like a fly to flypaper as he was gently plunging himself deep into her. 

 

She wanted him to fuck her, to show her what she was missing but it was clear sex with Lucifer was not emotionally stunted. 

 

He was using every inch of his body to infuse her with everything he could offer her. 

 

He was pouring his soul into his thrusts. 

 

Into his body locked onto hers.

 

Into his breath beating harshly against her ears.

 

Lucifer Morningstar was  _making love_  to her.

 

And he was warm. 

 

His body was hot, and his cock was too. 

 

Literally and figurately. 

 

He was warm, and that warmth was radiating in her center. It was a sensation she didn’t know she wanted until now.

 

“ _God_ , you’re so warm,” she says beneath her breath as if pleading that he be warmer. 

 

He doesn’t even have time to correct her language. Not when she is speaking to him with that lust behind her words.

 

“You’re so deep,” she whines, trying to stifle another moan.

 

He pulls himself away from her, to her distaste, and posts himself on his arms. Here, he allows gravity to add more power behind his thrusts.

 

Her moans become louder as the bed begins to rock. She tries to stifle her noise and reaches up and places one of her hands in her mouth, biting it. 

 

The noise she lets slip from her lips is a high pitched, quick and strained. 

 

It’s clear her effort to silence herself has not gone unnoticed.

 

“I can’t wait to fuck you somewhere else,” he says, his breathing heavy, “I want to hear all those delicious moans of yours.”

 

“Mmm,” she hums from beneath her hand.

 

His thrust becomes harder, faster, and shorter until she reaches back and takes the pillow behind her head. 

 

Her head falls down to the bed as she pulls it over her mouth, allowing a moan to escape that becomes dampened by the pillow. 

 

He laughs and stops his thrust before taking the pillow and moving it off her face.

 

“I’d like for you not to suffocate yourself,” he says with a chuckle, deciding it probably best he not follow that up with a joke about sex with a dead woman.

 

She smiles and reaches up, pulling the loose strands of hair away from her face.

 

“You don’t know how hard it is for me to keep quiet,” she says breathily.

 

He leans in and kisses her passionately as he thrusts, her moans getting lost in his mouth.

 

Then he pulls away from her, placing a hand back near her head as he posts up on his arms again and continues his assault on her insides.

 

His thrusts are soft but have power behind them that makes her cover her mouth and bite her hand. Each one makes her stifle a moan and also sends the audible crack of skin touching skin through the room. 

 

The bed continues to rock until the headboard starts to bang against the wall. He reaches up and sticks a hand between the headboard and the wall. Using his own flesh to soften the blow.

 

Chloe looks at him, her eyes wide.

 

“Shh,” she says.

 

He smiles before placing his other hand on the headboard, using it to steady himself as he pulls his knees between hers again. Then he goes back to pistoning in and out of her. She lowers her head back to the pillow, her eyes shut in ecstasy, and her jaw opens - waiting for whatever noise she is going to make.

 

The pressure he was putting on her body was  _wonderful_ , and the feeling of him sliding in and out of her is great, though not enough to make her cum. Still, she enjoys every second of it, knowing it does something for him. She can hear it in the soft grunts he lets go, and the heavy breathes.

 

She looks up as he raises his head slightly, his eyes closed tight as he thrusts. He turns his eyes back down to her to see her smiling at him.

 

He smiles back.

 

“Does that feel good?” she asks.

 

He lets go of a warm chuckle, “You feel Amazing,” he says with a heavy breath.

 

“Yeah?” she asks, a soft moan escaping her lips. 

 

Her jaw slacks with the power of his thrusts. 

 

Suddenly he feels a pop, followed by a heightened sensitivity as if her body suddenly opened up. His hands grip the headboard tightly as the sensation takes him into another realm of pleasure. 

He feels that familiar tingle developing in his gut, the one that signals impending release and stops. He stops thrusting, his breath heavy, and his throat suddenly dry. He closes his mouth and swallows.

 

He stays there, deep inside of her, his chest rising and falling with his breath as he tries to catch some semblance of control.

 

Why did she feel so damn good suddenly?

 

He pauses and looks down at her, a look of confusion on his face before it dawns on him that he is wearing a condom.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

“I don’t know,” he says, as he leans back and looks down, “I think the condom broke.”

 

He slides out of her to reveal the condom did indeed break.

 

“Just get another one,” she says, pointing to the still-open drawer, considering this an easy fix.

 

“I don’t think these are the right size, Chloe,” he says.

 

He snaps the two parts of the condom off him and reaches over to grab the remaining three condoms. 

 

She leans up on her elbows and reaches over to click on the light on her nightstand. Together they both look at the condom wrappers.

 

“I think this is the wrong size, right?” Lucifer says, handing it to her.

 

She looks at it and turns it over to read it.

 

“Yeah, this is smaller,” she says.

 

He chuckles to himself, and she looks at him oddly.

 

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re  _proud_  of breaking a condom,” she says, tossing the condoms at him. 

 

He laughs and shakes his head.

 

“No, I’m just laughing that the last person you had sex with was smaller than me.”

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“Who was that, by the way,” he asks, “Was it, Pierce?”

 

Chloe looks at him, shocked he would ask that question.

 

“Lucifer!” she says, embarrassed by the line of questioning.

 

“Oh, come on,” he says, “I’ve told you about my past rendezvous.”

 

“Yes, at great length,” she says, “Even when I tell you not to, but that doesn’t mean _I_  want to share. “

 

He chuckles warmly to himself as he leans forward and kisses her neck.

 

“Speaking of great lengths,” he says.

 

She groans and pushes him away, “You’re impossible,” she says, laughing.

 

She stops laughing, and both of their smiles fall. He sits back on his knees.

 

“I could just fly to my penthouse and get my condoms,” he says.

 

She stands there, her eyes running through all their options. If he left, and something celestial came up – as it always does – who knows how long it would take him? Or when they would next be alone.

 

She had to work tomorrow.

 

It was already midnight.

 

She groans.

 

She sighs and shakes her head, “Let’s just finish,” she says.

 

“Without a condom?” he asks, surprised at her change of attitude.  

 

She had been so adamant he buy those condoms earlier, and now she was telling him not to get them.

 

She allows her eyes to fall down his body, all the way to the erection that sits between his legs.

 

“Just … just don’t cum in me, okay?” she asks, “I’d like not to have the Devil’s baby.”

 

He grimaces, “You and this spawn business. I mean, really. We’re going to-“

 

She shuts him up by reaching out and pulling him down to her, planting her lips on his and wrapping her arms around his torso. 

 

They kiss passionately before he reaches between them and blindly places a hand on the shaft of his cock before pushes down slightly as he guides himself back into her. This time, being sufficiently lubricated, she accepts him readily.

 

“Oooh,” she lets go as he slides back into her, a pleasure in feeling him again. 

 

His body was warm, warmer than it should be, and that extended from the tip of his head to the tip of his … well,  _other head_.

 

It was a pleasant sensation, to feel his warmth so deep in her.

 

Again, he does slow pumps, the feeling of her body – with nothing in between them – making that tingle in his gut more pronounced. 

 

It was the tingle that promised him release, but only if he chased it. He had been chasing it for what felt like months, years even, and now he finally felt it again. 

 

It was powerful, but the devil was not a one-minute man, nor did he leave a sexual encounter with his partner unsatisfied.

 

He was at odds with himself. On the one hand, his body was telling him - despite having great control over his ejaculations - he wouldn’t be able to stave off his own climax. 

 

Not this time. Not with her.

 

On the other, Chloe hadn’t cum yet. It was unlike him to give in to his own desires when his partner hadn’t had cum at least three times.

 

This won’t do at all. 

 

He had been playful, enjoying taking his time, but he was running out of time. 

 

His demeanor switches, and he’s in a completely different mode now. He saw the goal he needed, and he intended to achieve it.

 

He pulls away from her, leaning back on his knees before he reaches down and wrappings his hands around her hips bones. He pulls her body up, raising her ass off the bed and pulling her onto him as he simultaneously thrusts. 

 

His thrusts are powerful, short, and concise as if he knew what spot he needed to hit and intended only to hit that – and nothing more – until he got what he wanted. 

 

The sudden change in his thrust pattern catches her off guard. She reaches down and holds on to his hands, the ones locked tightly to her hips, as her breasts bounce in response to his movement. She tosses her head back, her mouth agape.

 

“Ohhh, shit,” she whispers, eliciting a pleased chuckle from him – albeit breathy.

 

“Yesss, fuck me just like that,” she whines, her breath already catching in her throat.

 

He grunts, the pleasure hitting his gut like a punch to the stomach.

 

Had he known she was such a dirty talker, he might have started her with something less … vanilla. 

 

Now that he knows how verbal she is, he had a few delightful things he wanted to do with her when they had the time and ability to be louder. He continues to thrust into her, watching her face as she falls further and further into that ball pit of pleasure.

 

Somehow, even without the bells and whistles, this was perfect. When he had imagined having her, being inside of her again, he had always imagined it in his penthouse. 

 

There, like other women, he would rearrange every atom in her body until she came out a different woman. 

 

Yet, this … the relative silence, and stillness of her average bedroom, on an average night. 

 

It was ... uneventful.

 

Uninteresting.

 

_Perfect._

 

She reaches up and holds on to her breasts to stop them from bouncing so much. His thrusts shake her body and her bed. He grunts again. This time it’s sharp and deep. 

 

He was getting somewhere now that he could feel her, now that  _feel_ the inside of her pussy wrapped around his cock.

 

“Mmmm,” he hums, his hands still gripping impossibly strong onto her hips. 

 

She opens her eyes and watches as he stares down at the action, watching himself disappear into her. His mouth agape, his pace steady.

 

Her eyes cascade down his body, his chest, and abdomen, to his hips as he plunges his cock into her. The sight was … _undeniably stimulating_.

 

He pulls out of her, deciding this position wasn’t what would get her there. He wants to ask what it is, what her favorite position is, but he enjoyed the challenge of figuring it out on his own. 

 

He waddles back, away from her body before placing his hands on her waist and picking her up to flip her. 

 

The movement is awkward at first, but as soon as she figures out what he is trying to do, she aids him by flipping onto her stomach. He immediately plants his hands around her hips again as he moves forward, straddling her legs and guiding himself back into her from behind. She moans at the sensation of him filling her again. 

 

He plunges into her from behind, placing a hand on her lower back that forces her ass to raise up slightly. 

 

She starts to rock against him, and he watches, hypnotized, as her body makes his cock disappear with ease.

 

She lets go of a soft moan, and he slowly begins to match, then overtakes her speed as he takes over thrusting into her. He reaches out, holding his one hand onto her hip while the other holds her down to the bed.

 

She turns her face to the side, her head and chest planted to the bed as he keeps her body pinned down.

 

Her hand grips the covers.

 

“Yes, Lucifer!” she cries.

 

He loved it when he heard his name like that, but he shouldn’t be hearing it at all. She’s doing a horrible job at keeping silent.

 

Lucifer removes his hand from her hips and reaches over to cover her mouth. She gasps into his hand as he continues to pump his hips, another wave of tension developing in his gut.

 

The sound of his testicles hitting her flesh and his cock sliding in and out of her wetness fills an otherwise quiet room. 

 

He removes his hand when he thinks she might be quiet and uses it to pull her ass closer to him.

 

“Lucifer,” she starts to whine, her voice light yet tense.

 

He knows that sound. He practically _invented_ that sound.

 

“Do you want to cum?” he asks, his breath heavy.

 

She nods her head, a small cry pulling itself from her lungs. It shouldn’t feel this good,  _he_  shouldn’t feel this good. 

 

“Yes?” he says, as he leans his body on top of her, pinning her completely to the bed.

 

“Yes,” she responds in an airy breathe.

 

He brings his right hand up to his mouth. He licks his fingers before curving his hand under her and reaching between her legs to rub her clit.

 

She immediately moans before turning her face into the sheets beneath her and using them to dampen the sound.

 

“Are you going to cum for me?” he asks, his breath in her ear as he grinds himself into her from behind.

 

She nods her head quickly, her body pushing back against him, trying to get him deeper than he already is. 

 

He chuckles warmly at the way her body moves beneath him. He had thought making her lose control would somehow be harder.

 

“Yeah?” he asks.

 

“Fuck,” she cries, feeling his cock inside her and his hands rubbing her between her legs. 

 

Every inch he slides in and out of her fills both her body and spirit. She had questioned whether he even wanted her, whether he genuinely could love her. 

 

She had gotten his heart before his body, and for a man that gave his body willingly, it felt good, like she was different. 

 

Yet, for a man that gave his body willingly, to not have it also felt … well, it made her question. But now she had him, all of him, body and mind and  _fuck_ , his body was good.

 

She had felt pity for him that he had so many women, and none of them cared for him like she did. But now she felt jealous and angry that she hadn’t experienced him sooner.

 

“Are you going to cum on my cock?” he asks, egging her on as his fingers trace circles around her clit, applying a delicate pressure that makes her grip the sheets of her bed tighter.

 

She turns her head and moans into the mattress, hoping to stifle her voice. The stimulation is almost too much.

 

“Yes, yes, yes,” she cries, turning her head back to the side. 

 

Her breathing is ragged. She’s gasping in delight between staccato breathes.

 

“Cum for me,  _Chloe_ ,” he whispers in her ear, knowing precisely what his voice is doing to her. 

 

He knows because he can feel it.

 

That is all she needs. 

 

To again hear her name from his lips sends her over the edge, and suddenly she’s in that place again. 

 

Except for this time, he’s inside of her, and he’s filling her with the most intimate part of himself. 

 

He's stimulating her as she rounds that corner and is faced only with herself and her body. 

 

She falls silent again, as an orgasm hits her that shuts her up completely.

 

He can feel it, her body contracting around his penis. He leans up, ending his manipulation between her legs and solely focusing on his penetration.

 

He hums then releases an odd noise indicative of both his astonishment and delight with how good it feels to have her crumble around him. 

 

“Ohhh,” he says, enjoying that feeling. 

 

He had missed that feeling. He had waited forever for that feeling.

 

Somehow, it’s sweeter knowing it’s her.

 

“That’s it,” he says, stopping his thrust completely and just leaving his cock buried into her as her muscles convulse around him. 

 

He pushes himself into her, trying to go as deep as he can, keeping that pressure into her. He can tell she likes it, the ripples of her vaginal muscles don’t decay, don’t become weaker as if she were coming down from her high.

 

He watches her, her eyes rolled back in her head, her jaw slack, and her face becoming redder and redder.

 

His voice is soft as if he were gently guiding her through a meditation.

 

“Breathe,” he says, turning his attention to her hands that are tightly gripping the covers.

 

She inhales deeply and turns her head to moan into the mattress again. It’s bassy, and there is a rawness there that sounds like she is in pain, but it’s the sound of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. 

 

It’s the sound of release, of a woman who has probably never cum the way he is making her cum right now. 

 

It’s a wail of horror, of living life never having experienced this feeling before. But behind that is excitement, of joy for experiencing him in all his glory. 

 

“Good girl,” he says as she moans into her sheets. 

 

He had been prideful in all the wrong ways before, but now that pride seeps back into him. He had experienced many women throughout his long life, and it all felt like practice for her.

 

So, he could make her cum like this, right now. 

 

So, he knew exactly what to do and when to do it. 

 

He sits back and watches as he slowly goes back to fucking her from behind. 

 

She would need a few moments to collect the pieces of her psyche into some semblance of a functioning human. 

 

Yes, she was done for now, but he was just getting started.

 

He pulls his hand up and slaps it gently onto her ass, before gripping her flesh. The slap isn’t loud enough to echo, but he can hear it, and that’s all he needs.

 

“Mmm,” he says, his eyes focused on how easy his cock disappears into her. 

 

This was going to be a fun night.

 

\--

 

Inside her apartment, Natalie lays nude on top of her bed. Her legs are splayed open as she operates a toy vibrating between her legs. It is inside of her, rotating and pulsating in a way she is familiar with. One hand holds it into position while the other plays with her nipple.

 

“Mmm,” she says, a delightful vibration sending itself directly to her clit in consistent intervals.

 

She was thinking of the woman she picked up from the bar a few nights ago. She had been somewhat tipsy and was adamant she had never been with a woman before. It was clear she hadn’t, but that didn’t stop her from getting into it. 

 

It didn’t stop her from pushing Natalie’s head between her legs, where Natalie licked and lapped every sensitive bit of skin she could find. 

 

That didn’t stop her from yelling obscenities or allow deliciously naughty words to fall from her mouth as Natalie fucked her from behind with a strap on. 

 

No, she was not a delicate flower at all, despite the sobering rays of the 10 A.M. sunlight changing her attitude. She had practically snuck out of Natalie’s apartment, or at least tried to.

 

Natalie loved it when they tried to sneak out.

 

God, she was hot too. She was petite and slim, and her nipples had been the size of dimes.

 

It reminded her of Liz.

 

_Liz,_  Natalie thinks.

 

And there it goes, the orgasm she had been working on for the past twenty minutes had disappeared. Now that Liz was in her head, all she could think about was what had happened between them. 

 

Maggie

 

Maggie had been a friend, but now she felt more like Brutus.

 

_Et Tu, Maggie?_

 

“Fuck,” She says, sitting up, her mind not working with her and sticking to erotic thoughts.

 

She sighs and pulls the vibrator out of her.

 

She shuts it off and holds it in her hands for a moment, wondering if she could get it back. Nope. It was gone. She wasn’t into it anymore.

 

She lets go of a massive sigh and turns to look at the clock. It was after midnight, she should be in bed anyway.

 

She stands up and walks towards the bathroom. She turns on the sink and leans down to the cabinet beneath her sink to get a pump of toy cleaner. She begins to wash her toy when she hears her phone buzz in the living room. She pauses, turns off the sink, and sets the toy in the basin before leaving the bathroom and exiting towards the living room.

 

In her living room, she heads towards her purse on the table by the door and reaches in to pull out her phone, her red phone.

 

She has a new text from an unknown number.

 

She furrows her eyebrows and clicks on it.

 

“C, interview tomorrow, E,” it says.

 

She sighs, yeah, she was definitely not getting it back after this.

 

She begins typing a response, “Have lawyer 4 u if need be, C,” she replies.

 

She sets the phone down, and her eyes fall into her pause, where a white card stares back at her. She reaches for it, it’s the invitation to Liz’s wedding.

 

She stares at it for a second before flipping it over and slowly tearing open the sealed flap. She slides the card out and reads it.

 

There, in scripted print are the words “Elizabeth and Maggie.”

 

She clenches her jaw and nods. 

 

It was real.

 

Her phone buzzes, and she turns to it. She picks it up and reads it.

 

It’s a simple thumbs up.

 

She nods and clicks her phone off before setting it on the counter. She takes a look at the invitation, staring at it as if it were the meaning of life. She sighs and places it on the counter before turning and heading back into her bedroom.

 

She heads back into her bathroom, back to cleaning her toy.

 

**\--**

Inside her bedroom, Maze sits sharpening her blades in silence. A video plays from her phone, and she moves her eyes back and forth from the video to the knife. 

 

She is upset with herself. 

 

Upset that she is upset.

 

That she feels …angry but for all the wrong reasons.

 

She was so sure the Lieutenant was hiding some big celestial secret that she would uncover and, no doubt, take back to Lucifer. 

 

There they would tackle it together like old times, and she’d have her job back and .. she supposes Lucifer back.

 

But she was angry at herself for caring. 

 

Why did she want their old relationship back? 

 

He treated her like a servant. 

 

She  _was_  a servant. 

 

She was someone to be called upon but not heard or seen, except for orgies or when someone important needed to be punished.

 

Their relationship now was much better. 

 

_Hell_ , he even asked her if she was okay, if she wanted to talk. She didn’t want to, but he was willing to listen.

 

Why did she care?

 

Why did she care that life had become complicated? 

 

That the world outside of their own had taken over and now she was working a job.  _For money no less._

 

That now she was looking after a child some days, and she didn’t mind it.

 

It should all be boring but … she liked it. 

 

She liked this world more than her own. 

 

Life had become more complicated, sure, but it had also become ...  _better._

 

She felt ...

 

She pauses.

 

_She felt._

 

She squints her eyes.

 

What did that mean? To feel? 

 

Had it been something she ignored and pushed down, or was this new? 

 

Had she always felt but never had the vocabulary and experience to recognize it until now.

 

She scoffs at herself.

 

What a  _dumb_  conversation to have with oneself.  _Who cares?_

 

Why the  _fuck_ did she care?

 

So she didn’t have the same relationship with Lucifer? So what. 

 

He was still here. 

 

He was still calling on her. 

 

She was living below his fucking girlfriend so … it’s not like he abandoned her.

 

And so what if the Lieutenant turned out to be just some sad sack of a human. 

 

Sure, part of Maze had hoped she could discover she was a demon, and it would start some great adventure between her and Lucifer and the powers that be.

 

But the Lieutenant wasn’t a demon, was she? 

 

They weren’t going on an adventure, were they? 

 

It would be up to her to create her own adventure, wouldn’t it?

 

And she was suspended.

 

Maze scoffs again, an annoyance for herself seeping into her bones.

 

_She was bored._

 

She thought not hunting humans would be fine.

 

She thought, as long as she could have some fun with breaking the Lieutenant, then it would be fine. 

 

But she didn’t want to break the Lieutenant anymore. 

 

That idea seemed … ill-advised. 

 

If she had to admit, she rather liked the Lieutenant. She was no-nonsense, straight to the point, and didn’t get mixed up in emotions easily like other humans. 

 

She didn’t seem to care either.

 

Like Maze does. 

 

Maze shuts her eyes tightly.

 

_Why did she care?_

 

A sound catches her ear, something that sounds like it is not coming from the video, but from upstairs; from Chloe’s bedroom.

 

She pauses for a moment and tilts her head before reaching forward and pausing the video.

 

Here, in the new silence of her room, she can finally hear what is happening upstairs.

 

Above her, she can hear the gentle rocking of bedsprings followed by soft stifled moans. She listens for a moment to verify what she is hearing.

 

She hears more bed springs followed by silence. She turns her head to the ceiling, wondering if it was already over. Had she been so self-involved that she had missed hearing the first half of the show? 

 

Then she hears a muffled wail, it is long and gritty. It’s soft enough to not be heard throughout the apartment but loud enough that she can hear it through the floors. She recognizes that sound and smiles.

 

“Nice,” she says to herself, going back to sharpening her knife. 

 

_It’s about fucking time._

 

She looks back to the video, thinking about pressing play again. Though now, she wants to hear what is happening upstairs. It was way more interesting than whatever spiral was going on in her head.

 

She can only imagine what Lucifer is doing to her since she knows Chloe would never let her watch.

 

_Oh, to be a fly on that wall._

 

\--

Back in Chloe’s room, Lucifer is lying on his back as Chloe straddles him, riding him.

 

His hands are planted on her hips as she grinds herself onto him. He looks down between them, watching her body use his penis for her own pleasure.

 

She moans softly, her head tossed back before she leans forward, allowing her golden hair to drape over her head and onto him.

 

He reaches up to move her hair out his face.

 

She laughs and reaches up momentarily to pull her hair back.

 

Lucifer turns his attention down to his lap, watching her ride him.

 

“Mm,” he says, the pit in his stomach getting tighter as he watches their flesh meeting.

 

Her eyes watch him. Seeing him staring at the action.

 

“You like to watch?” she asks.

 

“Mmm,” he responds as she grinds onto him, that pit of tension building further in his gut, “How can I look away? You’re so beautiful,” he says.

 

She chuckles and adjusts herself, kicking her legs forwards, so her feet are flat on the bed near his hands. Then she leans back, allowing him a better view of him filling her as she rides him.

 

Her neck is red, and her breathing ragged as she switched from gyrating on him to up and down movement that rocks the bed beneath them. It sends a soft clap of skin through the room as her ass meets his pelvis.

 

She tosses her head back.

 

“ _God_  you feel so good,” she says again.

 

“Please,” he says, “can we not mention my father right now? I only just got my erections back don’t make them disappear again.”

 

She giggles.

 

He sits up and wraps his arms around her back before pushing forward and laying her on her back again. Here he goes back to using his hips to drive himself into her.

 

He posts himself up on his arms again and looks down between them as the thrusts. Then he slows his pumps as he feels that pit in his gut begins to tighten. 

 

It was too early, still. The Detective had only cum once. Once wasn’t even the appetizer for the first round. He was accustomed to at least three by now. Maybe he was doing something wrong? 

 

He slows his thrusts, even more, hoping to reverse the rise in heat in his spine that tells him he is close to his own physical release.

 

“What’s wrong this time?” she says, looking at him, noticing his change in rhythm, and the furrow in his eyebrows.

 

“Detective,” he says before a wave of pleasure hits him. 

 

He groans, his breath becoming more ragged as he slowly pushes himself in and out of her. 

 

His deep, long plunges do nothing to stem the tide. He had to stop, but he didn’t want to. He  _really_  didn’t want to.

 

“Normally I like to give my partner as much pleasure as they can stand before I have my own but … I find myself in great want,” he says.

 

She looks at him, unsure of what he is trying to say.

 

“I really… _really_  want to,” he says.

 

She smiles and brings a hand up to trail her fingers down his abdomen

 

“You want to cum?” she says.

 

He nods, his cock sliding in and out of her still.

 

“Then do it,” she says with a smile.

 

“Just … just don’t do it inside me,” she tacks on.

 

“I promise the next round won’t be so brief,” he says, apologetically.

 

She smiles, “I don’t care, as long as you are having a good time.”

 

He smiles and leans forward to kiss her, his body relaxing onto hers and pinning her to the bed.

 

He moves his shoulder forwards, locking her beneath him as his hands slide down her side and hold on to her ass cheeks. He turns his head to sit on her shoulder.

 

“I’m having a great time,” he says as his grinding picks up speed.

 

She moans and wraps her arms around his body.

 

“A great,” he says, his thrusting powerful on the word great.

 

“Great,” he says again, another powerful thrust.

 

“time,” he says before his thrusting picks up speed.

 

She moans, this position reminding her of their first time, albeit brief and unfinished.

 

He buries himself into her with short quick thrusts. It makes her need to catch her breath as the pressure of his body matches the tingles in her limbs.

 

“Yes,” she moans, biting his shoulder again as he increases his thrusts.

 

Her breathing becomes ragged again, and she swallows, partially choking on her spit.

 

“Yessss,” she whines, feeling a familiar wave come on.

 

“Fuck, don’t stop,” she whines, trying and failing immensely throttle her words.

 

He continues until he is rocking the bed, and the headboard is knocking against the wall again. 

 

Neither of the care, though, they are too far into their affair.

 

“Mmm,” he groans in response, the tingle growing in his gut as he chases it.

 

“Don’t stop, please,” she whines, a wild lust inside her voice, “please fuck me!”

 

She knows she should be quiet, but part of her doesn’t care. Not when he is doing that so effortlessly to her body. 

 

Like her earlier - and insanely good - orgasm, he was teasing her body into another with minimal effort.

 

Still, he’s holding back, she can tell. 

 

Perhaps it’s because it’s their first real time, or maybe it’s because there was a sleeping child in the house, or maybe it’s because he thinks she’s boring… it doesn’t matter. 

 

It never mattered because right now, he is hitting all the right spots, and it is driving her.  _Fucking._  Insane.

 

She lets her body slack into his, ready to let that feeling take her over again, inviting it in.

 

“Fuck me,” she whines again, “Please _, don’t stop_ ,” she begs.

 

He continues, the headboard now slamming against the wall.

 

Suddenly she bites onto his shoulder, this time hard as another orgasm rocks her spirit. It’s softer, not as strong as the one before, but it still causes her toes to curl and her nails to lock into his back.

 

He feels her cumming again and groans as he feels her body pulsate around his cock. It sends him over the edge.

 

“Ohhhh,” he says.

 

Suddenly he pulls away from her, then completely out of her before reaching down and stroking himself furiously.

 

She watches, her chest rising and falling as she is still in the depths of her own orgasm. She immediately reaches down and rubs herself, trying to get as much pleasure out of it as possible.

 

He groans, his hand moving like lightening over his cock.

 

The muscles in his abdomen tense and he lets out a deep set of grunts before he moans, and a thick rope of cum spurts out of him. It lands across her abdomen, her breasts, and her chin. 

 

She instinctually turns her head and closes her eyes as he continues to unleash ropes of hot semen onto her belly. She cautiously turns her head to him, wanting to watch as he empties himself onto her, his hand now slow and deliberate in its strokes. 

 

He hunches over her, a pulsating in his testicles and abdomen as his muscles squeeze and relax, working hard to get a month’s worth of sexual energy out of his system.

 

“Ohhhh,” he moans on the back of his grunt as more semen leaves his body. 

 

His eyes tightly shut, and his jaw slack. He allows himself to feel every second of his orgasm.

 

The power behind his load is gone, he slowly opens his eyes to find her watching him with a smile on her face. He closes his eyes again as he slowly strokes himself and dribbles out the last remaining drops of his orgasm onto her belly.

 

“Feel better?” she asks with a chuckle. 

 

He doesn’t respond; he just smiles and nods, his eyes still closed as he basks in that feeling of weightlessness.

 

She leans up on her elbows and looks down to surveys the damage.

 

“Wow,” she says

 

He opens his eyes, and they immediately go back to her body as she looks at all of the semen on her. 

 

They both look together as his cum is everywhere. 

 

Some has fallen in a line down the center of her abdomen.

 

The majority, however, has pooled into her belly button. 

 

The overflow spills down the side of her body and onto the sheets below them.

 

“Lucifer, I-,” she says.

 

“Ill buy you new sheets,” he says, his breathing slightly labored.

 

He lets go of his cock and reaches up to wipe it off of her chin with his thumb. He moves to pull his hand away, and she stops him, grabbing his wrists before sinking his thumb into her mouth.

 

Her tongue dances around his thumb, and he watches her. It sends a shiver up his spine. 

 

“It tastes like nothing,” she says, confused, popping his thumb out of her mouth.

 

“What were you hoping for?” he asks.

 

She shakes her head, “I was hoping it wouldn’t taste like shit …but, it tastes like nothing.”

 

He laughs, “Benefit of being an Angel, I suppose,” he says before pausing. 

 

How long would he be an angel for? Was he truly becoming a mortal?

 

He turns to her to find her looking at him with concern in her eyes. Before she can ask him a question that he’d have no recourse but to answer in truth, he slides off the bed and heads towards the bathroom.

 

“So … I mean, I guess we can call that successful,” she says looking down at her belly, “but how was it?”

 

Lucifer returns from the bathroom with a damp washcloth. He climbs back onto the bed and leans over to wipe the remnants of him off of Chloe.

 

“Excellent, of course. At least on your part. My performance was lackluster.” 

 

She shakes her head, “No, I can honestly say it was not,” she says the tone of her voice imparting she is not sugar coating her statement.

 

He smiles, “Either way, once I clean you off, we can start round two,” he says pleased with the turn of events.

 

She looks at him.

 

“Round two?”

 

“Oh yes,” he says, surprised she is asking, “Detective, what makes me an excellent lover is not only my knowledge of the human body but my stamina and experience. I have a remarkably short refraction period and – lucky for you – an endless supply of seed.”

 

She looks at him as if she doesn’t know how to respond to that.

 

“Though I must admit,” he says, frowning, “My output tends to be much less than this. I suppose I was a little …  _backed_  up.”

 

“Lucifer, I have to  _work_  tomorrow,” she says, “we … we don’t need a round two.”

 

He looks at her, his eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. She looks at him, daring him to say anything that isn’t an affirmation of what she said.

 

He sighs. He supposes a full night of sex can wait until she can be more … vocal.

 

“I suppose it will do for now,” he says.

 

He goes back to wiping her off. 

 

“How  _gracious_  of you,” she says, a feigned annoyance in her voice.

 

He looks up at her, and she smiles back. He watches her for a second.

 

Damn, he loved her so much.

 

He goes back to wiping her belly as clean as he can get it. She watches him as he diligently cleans her, and briefly, the fear hits her that he might leave now; now that he has gotten what he wanted. 

 

What if this was all just one big ruse to sleep with her?

 

He gets up, done with his cleaning, and heads back to the bathroom. Chloe lays there for a moment, her abdomen stickier than she wants it to be, but … a shower at this point in the night only to get back onto dirty sheets would be pointless. 

 

She pauses.

 

She should probably change the sheets.

 

He comes back, and she sits up, suddenly shy about being nude next to him. He casually hops into bed with her, a smile plastered on his face. He lays down and wraps his arms around her as she is getting up.

 

He pulls her back down into bed with him.

 

“Lucifer, we need to change the sheets,” she says.

 

“Nonsense,” he says.

 

“What do you mean nonsense? You got all over the sheets!”

 

“I’ll sleep in it, Detective, it’s not a big deal.”

 

He yanks her back down onto the bed and wraps his arms around her. She struggles for a second before giving up and sighing. She moves into her position as little spoon as he pulls her tight.

 

He settles into his position and sighs. Slowly, she relaxes.

 

They did it, she thinks, they had sex, and nothing has changed.

 

They had sex, he thinks, they had sex, and she was still here.

 

_Nothing has changed._

 

Chloe leans forward and shuts off the light to the lamp before getting back in her position. They adjust themselves slightly until they are in perfect comfort. The room is still for a moment and silent and comfortable.

 

She lays there, feeling him still erect against her backside.

 

“Does that thing ever go down?” she asks.

 

He chuckles.

 

“I told you, short refraction period, Detective. It will go down as soon as I stop thinking about those delightful noises you made.”

 

She rolls her eyes.

 

“You might have to be the little spoon then.” She says jokingly.

 

He leans in, his lips right close to her ear.

 

“Or you can let me fuck you again,” he says.

 

The bass in his voice sends chills down her spine and goosebumps form on her skin. 

 

Lucifer sees them and laughs.

 

“ _Come on_ , Detective,” he says, knowing exactly how to get what he wants.

 

“Good night Lucifer,” Chloe says, a feigned annoyance in her voice. 

 

The smile on her face doesn’t help impart the finality of her words.

 

He scoffs, amused, and falls back down into his position.

 

“Good night Chloe,” he says.

 

She closes her eyes, and eventually, when the room is silent - and she’s no longer being stabbed in the back - she drifts off to sleep.

 

He tries to go to sleep, but he can’t. He felt light now that his body had a release that cleared his mind and lifted a fog he didn’t know he had.

 

No, nothing had changed between him and the Detective, but he had changed.

 

Or rather, he was changing.

 

_Mortal_ , he thinks,  _what will it be like to be mortal?_

 

 

\--

 

 

Back inside the high-end hotel room, Calmos lays peacefully beneath the covers of the king-sized bed. He is comfortable, probably this being the first time he’s slept on a mattress – with pillows no less.

 

He snores softly, drool falling from his open mouth.

 

In the bathroom nearby, Ezria sits on the toilet. He had taken a bite of Calmos’ hamburger and even ate a few bites of Lucifer’s steak and potatoes, and he was not having a great experience with the other half of the digestive process. 

 

The food was running through him in a manner not befitting of an Angel.

 

_How did mortals do this every day?_

 

He sits, waiting for the cramping in his stomach to subside. When it is done, and it feels like all matter has left his bowels, he stands and turns to look into the bowl. He is disgusted by what he finds there and grunts, lowering the lid and flushing.

 

He hadn’t had much experience with this particular habit of mortals, but he had experienced it many times when he was in possession of that woman’s vessel. 

 

He moves to the sink and washes his hands. He is in the middle of washing his hands when he feels a strange tug on his being.

 

He pauses, trying to figure out where that is coming from.

 

He washes his hands, turning his head to the left as he does so. Here he listens and waits, trying to figure out where that strange vibration was coming from.

 

He turns in front of him and slowly turns off the water.

 

His eyes roll up, and he catches his reflection in the mirror. 

 

It stares back at him with deep black eyes.

 

Where was that feeling coming-

 

He pauses, taking better stock of his reflection in the mirror.

 

It smiles back at him with a deep, wide grin.

 

Except he isn’t smiling.

 

He is  _absolutely not_  smiling.

 

_How easy would it be_ , he thinks.

 

It echoes in his head.

 

_How easy it would be_ , he thinks,  _to do as we please?_

 

To crawl into bed with the halfling, the lower the cloth around his body and touch him in the most intimate of parts.

 

“It would be easy,” Ezria says out loud, as it practicing a speech in the mirror.

 

_Perhaps he would fight,_  he thinks,  _but a halfling was no match for an Angel._  

 

It would be easy and straightforward, and he would get what he wants. 

 

He was a halfling after all. 

 

He shakes his head, “No,” he says out loud, “No, that is not the correct way.”

 

Ezria shuts his eyes tightly, trying to push those thoughts out, but they echo in his head.

 

_How easy it would be. How simple it would be to have what he wanted._

 

“No,” Ezria says to himself, “No, no.”

 

_Oh, but it would be so easy_ , he thinks.

 

“No, that’s not … you can’t just –“

 

_We can make him to anything we want_ , he thinks.

 

“No!” Ezria says, reaching out and punching the mirror.

 

It shatters from the center, and shards of glass fall, dropping into the sink.

 

He looks at the broken mirror, then down to the shards in the sink. He catches his dark eyes staring back at him in one of the shards.

 

_To do as I want, as I should_ , he thinks.

 

He stands there, his eyes a jet-black, dark. 

 

He saunters outside and into the small hallway between the bathroom and bedroom. He slowly walks down the hall before Calmos comes into view. He pauses and stares at a sleeping Calmos.

 

_It would be easy_ , he thinks.

 

Slowly he approaches the bed, his chest rising and falling.

 

He stands at the edge of the bed, staring at a sleeping Calmos with want in his heart. 

 

Desire. 

 

_Temptation._

 

He stands there for what seems like too long, his eyes squinting as he watches.

 

_We can make him do anything_ , a voice says in his head.

 

“No,” he replies as he turns to the open window that stares out into the Los Angeles night.

_He is only a halfling, not worthy of such restraint,_ he thinks.

 

“No,” Ezria says sternly.

 

Then silence.

 

Ezria stands there and stares out into the Los Angeles night.

 

It is silent, but somewhere in his head, the distant sound of a door unlocking echoes. It creaks as it opens, and darkness begins to pour into the white of his eyes.

 

He stands there and waits.

 

Another door unlocks, followed by another creak.

 

Then Another door, then another, and another. 

 

Door after door until finally, there is silence again.

 

Ezria stares blankly out into the city, a smile creaking onto his lips.

 

_We can make **them** do anything_, the voice says.

 

“Yes,” he replies, a sinister excitement in his heart.

 

Another door opens, then creaks.

 

Ezria stands there for a moment before suddenly his eyes flip up to pure white, and his body collapses beneath him. 

 

He falls to the floor with a crunch, and the room is filled with a dark mist that dissipates and disappears into the Los Angeles night.

 


	21. The Book of Samael

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe and Lucifer wake in the same bed, Amenadiel watches the news, Chloe makes a discovery in her case, Ezria discovers his feelings for Calmos and Amenadiel finally confront his father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everyone who has read this long ass fanfic. I apologize for the long time between updates but this story went a lot farther than I originally intended. There is one last part in this series that will tie everything together. It will be MUCH shorter, more concise and hopefully quick to post. Follow my Tumblr on hrfiction.tumblr.com to know when that is posted. Otherwise, thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy the final chapter of this part.
> 
> \---

A beam of light crashes into Chloe’s bedroom from outside as the sun comes up over Los Angeles. She doesn’t stir, nor does the man behind her who holds her close. They lay there together, silent and comfortable – smiles planted on both their faces even in their sleep.

 

Their silence is disturbed as the alarm clock on her dresser starts to sing, and Chloe stirs. She groans to life and reaches out a hand to slap the alarm clock. Her hand falls, crashing to the side of the bed before she turns to find Lucifer with a dumb smile on his face, half asleep.

 

She can see him barely peeking at her through his eyelids, unsure of whether sleep was more important or watching her attempt to get from under the covers without him seeing her naked body.

 

Would she try to hide? Or would she be proud of her body like she should? Now that he’s had her, there was no real point in hiding it.

 

Chloe looks down to find he is sporting an impressive morning erection. She tilts her head and chuckles to herself.

 

“Does that thing ever go down?” she asks, her voice hoarse and sluggish.

 

He smiles to himself, still with hooded eyes – somewhere between sleep and consciousness.

 

“It’s not my fault I can’t stop thinking about those beautiful noises you made.”

 

His smile falls into a scolding frown.

 

“Despite you telling me you could be quiet, you were _absolutely_ not.”

 

She blushes.

 

He reaches an arm around her and pulls her closer.

 

“Shall we try again? You know they say practice makes perfect.”

 

She shakes her head and pulls his arm off of her.

 

“If we didn’t wake Trixie last night, she will definitely hear now. Besides, she’s going to be up in half an hour, and I need to make her breakfast.”

 

“I’m capable of quickies, Detective. They aren’t my favorite, but I’d be more than willing to forgo my usual decisions for something quick and dirty.”

 

She rolls her eyes, a smile planted on her face as she moves to stand.

 

He reluctantly lets her go, and she stands up, tossing the covers off of her freely. He leans up on his elbows, wide awake at this point, and watches her as she walks around the bed and into the bathroom.

 

She was absolutely beautiful, and he wanted to feel her fall apart beneath him again. She turns to see him watching him as she crosses the bathroom threshold, then pauses.

 

She looks at him, sees that look behind his eyes of adoration, and smiles before entering the bathroom. He tilts his head, unsure of that was an invitation or not. He rips the covers off of him anyway and slides off the bed.

 

Better be safe than sorry.

 

 He nearly sprints into the bathroom to find her standing by the sink, washing her face. He wraps his arms around her, and she practically jumps.

 

“Oh!” she says, surprised, wiping the water from her eyes as he leans down and kisses her neck.

 

“Lucifer,” she begins to say, his hands moving down between her legs.

 

She braces herself on the sink as his hands slip between the folds of her pussy.

 

“Lucifer,” she says again, trying to halt him, but her voice is softer now.

 

Part of her doesn’t want to stop him.

 

She closes her eyes as he expertly slides his fingers between her folds, grazing her clit purposefully, teasing her into the response he wants. He wants her to say yes. He wants her to bend over the sink and beg him to slide into her.

 

“Mmm,” she hums, backing into his erection.

 

He smiles, kissing her neck and breathing hot air on her skin.

 

“I bet you taste just as good in the morning,” he says.

 

She opens her eyes and looks at the mirror in front of her. There she watches Lucifer, standing behind her, his tall, lean body pressing her up against himself as his hands maneuver between her legs. Her hair is wild and unbrushed like she just got out of having wild sex. She supposes she did. Still, she doesn’t like the look. It doesn’t feel like her. It doesn’t feel like something she should look like at six-thirty in the morning.

 

She reaches down and pulls his hand away before turning to face him. He frowns.

 

“Darling,“ he begins to say, “We were just getting-“

 

She falls to a squat, and before he can finish his sentence, she grabs ahold of his erection and begins to stroke it.

 

His expression changes from disappointment to approval.

 

“Is this what you wanted?” she asks, her voice sultry.

 

“Partly,” he says as she takes him into her mouth.

 

He places a hand on the back of her head, again brushing her loose hair into a ponytail as she sucks and slurps, her hand stroking him and twisting her palm at the same time.

 

He groans and tosses his head back, staring at the ceiling. Slowly his head comes back down to watch her. She turns her eyes to him, and that pit in his stomach starts to churn again.

 

It wasn’t morning sex, but he wouldn’t dare stop a morning blowjob.

 

**\--**

Inside Linda’s bedroom, she and Amenadiel lay peacefully beneath the covers. It is somewhat still here too, despite the sun beaming through the window and birds chirping – happy to see a new day.

 

Linda’s alarm starts to sing, and both her and Amenadiel stir. Amenadiel wakes, not a single lack of clarity over his eyes, and reaches out to slap the alarm clock silent.

 

In his arms, Linda stirs beneath a head full of tangled hair. Her eyes are caked in sleep, and she has a small drool stain on the side of her mouth. She reaches up and wipes the drool from her lips then looks at Amenadiel – her eyes squinting as they adjust to the morning light.

 

He turns to her and smiles before reaching out and wiping the other side of her mouth.

 

“Hello, Beautiful,” he says.

 

She smiles at him and turns her head to the rest of the room.

 

He leans forward and pulls her into a kiss. She hums into it and breaks away from him, tossing the covers off her nude body.

 

“If I didn’t know you had wings,” she says groggily, “I’d think you were too perfect to be human.”

 

He smiles and sits up, watching her as she goes into the bathroom and turns on the sink. He looks into the bathroom, only able to make out her bare ass and legs. He tilts his head, watching her before he turns his head out the window. His smile falls slightly, the memory of all the things he had tried to not worry about coming back to him now that he is awake.

 

The sink stops, and Linda walks out before grabbing a robe and tossing it over her body.

 

“I’ll go make us some breakfast,” she says.

 

Amenadiel leans forward on his knees, the covers falling just below his waist to reveal he too is naked. Here, he reaches out and grabs Linda, pulling her back onto the bed and into his lap.

She giggles as he assaults her with a bevy of kisses on her face.

 

“Amenadiel!” she says between kisses, giggling.

 

She peels herself away from him and quickly gets up.

 

“What do you want for breakfast?” she asks, moving towards the door.

 

“you,” he says, reaching out to grab her robe.

 

She pulls her robe back just in time and scurries towards the door.

 

“Nope! Nuh-uh,” she says, exiting the room, “If we start now, I’ll never get to work on time!”

 

He smiles to himself then peels off the remainder of the covers before setting his feet on the ground. By the bed lays a pair of boxers. He grabs it and slips it on before exiting the bedroom and heading into the living room.

 

She already has the fridge open and is pulling out eggs by the time he crosses into the kitchen.

 

“Cut the tv on for me, will you?” she asks.

 

He nods and walks into the living room. He grabs the remote off the coffee table and flips the TV on. It immediately lands on a news channel.

 

He sets the remote down and turns to her.

 

“I thought we could go out to eat tonight,” he says, walking around the island counter, “My treat.”

 

“Oh,” she says, amused, “ _your_ treat?”

 

“Mmmhmmm,” he says, wrapping his arms around her from behind, watching as she cracks two eggs into the bowl.

 

His eyes roll up to the TV for a moment before turning back down to the bowl.

 

“Where should we go?” she asks.

 

His eyebrows furrow and his eyes snap back to the TV, “Where do you want to go?” he absentmindedly asks as his eyes try to piece together what he is seeing.

 

“I don’t know, I was thinking-“she says before her voice fades out.

 

He watches the ticker on the screen.

_Earthquake in Cairo reveals lost chapters of Bible_ , it reads.

 

The woman on the screen is saying something next to a split-screen of men pulling old scrolls from a broken vault inside of a deep crater.

 

The ticker changes.

 

_Several pages of missing verses in Book of John, Genesis, and more._

He stares, watching the news and completely absorbed in it.

 

“Amenadiel!” he hears before turning back to Linda.

 

“Huh?” he asks.

 

“I have to get the milk,” she says.

 

“Oh,” he says, releasing his hold on her as she turns to get the milk.

 

“Anyway,” she continues, “I thought it might be nice to go there. I know you love seafood, and they have a great porch where we can dine and look out to the sea.”

 

“That sounds good,” he says, again absentmindedly, as he moves into the living room and stands in front of the coffee table, watching the news.

 

Linda watches him as he moves, almost like he is entranced.

 

“Is everything okay?” she asks.

 

He doesn’t respond, he just stands there, watching the TV, completely silent.

 

She shuts the fridge and sets the milk on the counter. Then she walks around the island and into the living room. She approaches and stands next to him. Her eyes fall to the ticker before her head raises, understanding why Amenadiel might be more interested in this than their conversation.

 

They stand there for a moment, and she crosses her arms.

 

“How bad is this?” she asks.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “I don’t know, but … I imagine it can’t be good.”

 

She hums in acknowledgment. She looks at him.

 

“So, what are you going to do? Are you going to finally talk to your father?”

 

Amenadiel scoffs and turns to her before he walks behind the couch and heads to the bedroom.

 

“No, I’m going to talk to Lucifer,” he says.

 

She pauses and stands there for a second, thinking. Suddenly she’s jarred out of that thought process and turns to the bedroom.

 

“So, should I bother making pancakes?” she yells.

 

**\--**

Inside Chloe’s bathroom, Lucifer sits on the counter as Chloe’s head bobs up and down between his legs. He groans, his head flat against the mirror behind him. She strokes and sucks him while her other hand is toying with the sensitive bundle of nerves between her legs.

 

“Darling, you’re so good at that,” he says, looking down at her.

 

She looks up at him, a look in her eye like she doesn’t believe him.

 

“Honest,” he says, staring at her.

 

She rolls her eyes and closes them again, going back to her own enjoyment from this.

 

“I never lie,” he says, his voice breathy as another wave of pleasure hits him. This time it lingers, however.

 

She opens her eyes, watching him groan as he gets a tighter grip on her hair.

 

She feels his testicles move beneath her grip, pulling closer to his body. A smile curves along her lips, and she pops him out of her mouth, keeping her rhythm with her strokes.

 

“Looks like you’re going to cum,” she says.

 

He moans, his hips gyrating into her palm.

 

“Even your hands feel good,” he says, his eyes staring at how her hands move around his cock.

 

She laughs, “I think it’s been too long for you,” she says before leaning back down and popping him back into her mouth.

 

He hisses as soon as her tongue touches the head of his cock. He puts pressure on her head, and again she tests the waters by letting go of him, allowing him to thrust freely into her mouth with his hips.

 

The last time she tried this, it didn’t go well, but perhaps this time …

 

He gyrates into her mouth, before reaching out and setting another hand on the other side of her head. Here he slowly fucks her mouth as she picks up speed in rubbing herself between her legs. She moans too.

 

“I’m going to cum,” he warns.

 

She immediately reaches a hand up and goes back to matching the pace of her mouth with her hands.

 

His breathing is heavy and loud, and he completely lets go of her, allowing her to take control as his hands fall by his side, and his head hits the mirror again.

 

She sucks and slurps, and Lucifer sits there, hearing all of this. Despite it not being sex, it is still enough for him to imagine.

 

“Detective,” he warns, his testicles tight up against his body.

 

She continues to slurp and suck, a moan coming from her mouth that sets his body on fire.

 

“Chloe!” he warns again, this time a finality in his voice.

 

She doesn’t stop, though, or release her seal on his cock.

 

“Chl-“ he begins, trying to warn her, but now it’s too late.

 

He groans and inhales deeply as he releases himself into her mouth. She hums in approval as he grunts and thrusts his hip through each new spurt of cum. She slows her strokes and softens them as he spills himself into her mouth until she stops completely, and her mouth is just sealed around his cock.

 

He breathes heavily and looks down at her.

 

“I was warning you, Darling,” he says breathily, apologetically.

 

She looks up at him before popping him out of her mouth and stroking him gently.

 

She swallows, and a shiver runs down his spine. His dick jumps at the thought, and she laughs, feeling it in her hands.

 

“I’d told you I’d make you swallow your words,” he says.

 

She smiles and reaches up, wiping her lip before licking it her finger.

 

“You didn’t _make_ me do anything, Mr. Morningstar,” she says cheekily.

 

“Mm,” he hums, leaning in to kiss her. They share a passionate kiss, allowing him to taste himself on her mouth.

 

She pulls away from him before smiling and shooing him off the sink.

 

“Now, can I get ready for work in peace?” she asks, knowing full well what she just did wasn’t _just_ for him.

 

It momentarily satiated a growing desire to touch him. She had spent most of their partnership preventing herself from thinking about it. But now that she had given herself permission, now that they had broken the ice, she wanted to touch him until he told her to stop.

 

He probably would never tell her to stop.

 

“If it were up to me, you’d never have to work again. If only so I could fuck you in every room and on every surface of every single city on earth,” he says, wrapping his arms around her as she reaches for her toothbrush.

 

“That’s sweet,” she says sarcastically, pulling her hand back to tap the side of his face as she puts her toothbrush in her mouth.

 

“Now, can you get ready so we can go? We have an interview, and I have to sign papers to release our victim’s body to his family.”

 

He smiles and lets go of her before turning to the shower behind him.

 

“If you’re trying to lessen my arousal, you’ll need to work harder than that,” he says.

 

She smiles and spits into the sink.

 

He turns on the water and sticks his hand beneath it, waiting for the temperature to be right. He turns and watches her as she goes through her morning routine. She keeps looking at him through the corner of her eyes. He’s staring at her strangely.

 

“What?” she says as she spreads moisturizer on her face.

 

“I’m happy,” he says, the words coming out as if it were a realization he just had.

 

She smiles.

 

“You’re so easy to please,” she says.

 

He just continues to stare at her. It wasn’t because of the blowjob, it was everything. In him, he had a strange sense of hope that he had never felt before. It felt … good.

 

She kisses him again, this time sweetly before heading out of the bathroom.

 

“I’ll let you shower while I get Trixie ready for school.”

 

\--

Downstairs, Maze sits at the table. She is spoon deep in a bowl – well, a serving bowl – full of cereal.

 

She is looking at her phone when Chloe descends the steps, an air of complete satisfaction around her. Maze looks up and immediately starts to grin widely.

 

“How did you sleep?” she asks, insinuation in her voice.

 

Chloe clears her throat and turns to the fridge.

 

“Just fine, thank you. How did you sleep?”

 

“Or should I be asking if you slept at all?” Maze says.

 

Chloe pauses and turns around.

 

“I slept well,” she says again.

 

Maze looks at her, her smile stuck on her face as she eyes Chloe up and down. She gets up and walks across to her before taking in a deep sniff of her body. Chloe furrows her eyebrows.

 

“What are you-“

 

“You still smell like sex,” she says.

 

Chloe brushes a strand of loose hair behind her ears before she turns and reaches for a cup from the cupboard.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t smell that.”

 

“I can,” Maze says, “I’m very familiar with it. The scent. How was it? Wait, no, that’s a stupid question. I should be asking how _you_ were.”

 

Chloe scoffs, “That’s none of your business.”

 

Maze shrugs and turns back to the table. She sits and reaches for her spoon.

 

“It’s my business when I can hear you two through the walls.”

 

Chloe raises her eyes and walks over to Maze, her voice low.

 

“You heard us through the wall?”

 

Maze nods and puts a spoon full of cereal in her mouth, “Yeah I was going to ask if I could watch but … I knew that it was going to be a no. Lucifer is weird with you. So, you know … I just listened. “

 

Chloe just stares at her, her cheeks burning red.

 

“I’m glad I finally know what you sound like when you cum, though,” Maze says, eating another spoonful of cereal, “I was starting to wonder if you were a eunuch.”

 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Chloe says, embarrassed and annoyed, walking back to the counter to pull a container of instant coffee from the cupboard.

 

She opens it and pours the crystals into the cup.

 

“Do you think Trixie heard us?”

 

Maze shrugs, “I don’t know. Maybe you should ask her when she wakes up.”

 

“Oh _God_ ,” Chloe says, thinking about what that conversation must be like.

 

Maze drops her spoon into the bowl.

 

“Please don’t tell me you said that during sex. That’s the worst thing you can say.”

 

“What? No, I mean … I don’t know. I don’t really think about what is coming out of my mouth when-,”

 

“Only going in?” Maze says with a smile.

 

Chloe nods to herself and, kicking herself for not seeing the opening to that joke.

 

She scoffs and shakes her head, “I’m going to wake up Trixie.”

 

“Oh come on,” Maze says, “I’ve been waiting for this moment for forever. I need to know! What did he do? What did you _let_ him do? “

 

Chloe eyeballs Maze, her eyes saying they would never tell while also telling her to shut the fuck up. Maze turns back to her bowl of cereal, intensely amused.

 

Chloe walks over to Trixie’s bedroom door and pushes it open. She is met with a still sleeping Trixie, and a small smile comes over her face. She walks in and sets herself gently on the bed before brushing the tangled bit of hair from Trixie’s face. Trixie begins to stir.

 

“Good Morning,” Chloe says softly.

 

Trixie’s eyes slowly squint open, and she turns to see a smiling Chloe.

 

Trixie slowly sits up and rubs her eyes.

 

“How did you sleep last night?” Chloe asks, gently fishing to see how much Trixie knew.

 

“Good,” she croaks.

 

Chloe smiles and continues to brush Trixie’s hair out of her face.

 

“All night?” she asks again.

 

Trixie reaches up and wipes her eyes, nodding.

 

Chloe visibly relaxes.

 

“Mommy?”  Trixie asks.

 

“Yes, baby?”

 

“Do I have to go to school today?”

 

Chloe smiles, “Yes. If you want to grow up and be the president someday, you have to go to school.”

 

Trixie frowns, “What if I just want to be an astronaut?”

 

Chloe laughs, “Astronauts go to school too.”

 

Trixie groans and deflates. Chloe laughs and pulls the covers off her.

 

“Come on, go brush your teeth, and wash your face. Then I’ll comb out your hair.”

 

Trixie nods and slides out of bed. Her pajama top pulls up a little, and Chloe reaches out to pull it down before gently tapping her bottom to push her forward. Trixie sluggishly walks towards the door before turning and disappearing into the bathroom.

 

Chloe walks back out into the living room, and Maze looks at her.

 

Maze is about to say something when Chloe raises her hand.

 

“Ah! No. Inappropriate,” she says.

 

“You didn’t even know what I was going to say!”

 

“Didn’t I?” she asks, crossing her arms.

 

Maze laughs before they both hear a loud and insistent knock on the door. They both pause and look at each other. Maze immediately scoots her chair back, making a loud noise as it drags on the tile.

 

She reaches into her waistband and produces a jagged knife before approaching the door. She swings it open, ready to stab whoever is knocking and finds Amenadiel standing there. She pauses, but only momentarily.

 

“Are you going to stab me?” Amenadiel asks, watching her hesitation.

 

Maze squints and pulls the knife back, “Right now? No. Maybe later,” she says, tucking the knife behind her and turning back to the table.

 

“It’s for you,” she tells Chloe, annoyed, as she plops back down at the table and goes back to eating her cereal.

 

Amenadiel walks in and closes the door behind him.

 

“What’s going on?” Chloe asks, her arms crossed and closing her robe tighter.

 

“Where’s Lucifer? You need to see this,” he says as he moves to the television and picks up the remote. He fiddles with it for a second, trying to turn the TV on when Chloe comes over and takes the remote from him.

 

“Turn it to the news,” he says.

 

She obliges and flips the TV to the news station.

 

They are immediately met with live footage from above a giant sinkhole. News vans have set up on the edges while police keep onlookers from crossing a line of wooden barricades

 

\--

 

 _“And for more, we go to our correspondent Alexis Moore. Alexis?”_ the newsman says.

 

It cuts to a clip of a tall, dark-haired woman standing in front of a police barricade.

 

“ _Thanks, Tom,”_ Alexis says, _“I’m here in the heart of Cairo, outside of an old Cathedral that was converted into a community center in the late ’80s. Here, the earthquake that unsettled the entire city only a day ago and killed seven people, injuring dozens more, has also revealed a proverbial treasure trove of documents presumed to date back as early as 800 BC.”_

 

 _“Can you tell us a little bit more about what has been uncovered so far? And how do we know these documents are real?”_ Tom asks.

 

Alexis puts a finger in her ear and nods.

 

There is a slight delay before she says, “ _Yes, right. Well, this discovery is only a few hours old.”_

 

She turns behind her, and points to the giant sinkhole in the ground where makeshift scaffolds have been made and men wearing gloves and light helmets walk down the steep wooden planks.

 

_“Behind me, you can see that members from the Egyptian government’s Conservation team have been working to carefully pull out and preserve these documents since the vault was revealed late last night.”_

 

She turns back to the camera.

 

_“We don’t have any transcripts of the scrolls yet as efforts to conserve the documents before transcribing them have taken precedence. However, early reports indicate we are looking at several lost chapters from the bible. Including lost chapters from Genesis, John, Ezekiel, and even a completely removed chapter from the bible called Samael. Now, it’s important to note that no carbon data has been done yet to prove the authenticity of these documents. Based on initial reports and the location of their discovery, however, all signs point to these documents being authentic. We won’t have an official answer for months, but it is still an exciting discovery nonetheless.”_

 

\--

 

Inside her apartment, Maze is now standing next to Chloe. When the reporter says Samael, Maze and Amenadiel both turn to each other. Their stare is intense, and they both share a moment of seriousness that is not lost on Chloe.

 

“What, what is that?” she asks, trying to gauge how serious this is.

 

“Samael is Lucifer’s name,” Amenadiel says.

 

“It’s the name God gave him, before his fall,” Maze adds.

 

“So … so these scrolls are about him?” Chloe asks.

 

Amenadiel nods, “It appears so.”

 

She thinks about it for a moment before turning and running up the stairs.

 

“Lucifer!” she yells up the stairs.

 

Maze and Amenadiel watch her as she disappears upstairs.

 

“Lucifer slept over?” a small voice says behind them.

 

They turn to see Trixie, clean teeth and face, standing in her pajamas next to them.

 

“He must be sad,” she continues, “he stays over when he is sad.”

 

Maze moves past Amenadiel and kneels in front of Trixie.

 

“Go get ready for school, okay?” she says, reaching a handout to Trixie and holding her softly by the arm.

 

There is a strange tone to her voice, that Amenadiel has never heard, one that is almost motherly.

 

Trixie nods, “I don’t have an outfit,” she says.

 

“You’re a big girl, you can pick one out for yourself,” Maze says, flatly.

 

It is both a characteristic annoyance but also a critical statement that should make a child feel a specific type of way. However, oddly, it seems to be a vote of confidence that Trixie takes to heart.

 

She looks at Maze for a moment, then shrugs and nods.

 

“Okay,” she says, having absorbed that information and now ready to put it into action.

 

Trixie turns and heads back into her room.

 

Maze turns and sees Amenadiel watching her with a soft smile on his face.

  
“Chloe spoils her,” she says, crossing her arms defensively, “She’s old enough to be independent now. I fought in three battles by the time I was her height.”

 

“I didn’t say anything,” Amenadiel says with a smile as if he wants to say something badly.

 

“Yeah, well, you’re looking at me like you wanted to say something.”

 

Amenadiel chuckles and shakes his head.

 

“I was just going to say how good you are with her.”

 

Maze scoffs and crosses her arms. She turns back to the TV.

 

Amenadiel chuckles and turns his head back to the TV.

 

“I tell Chloe I drop her off in the mornings, but really she takes the bus,” Maze says, not looking back at Amenadiel.

 

Amenadiel nods, “It’s good for the young ones to learn to be self-sufficient.”

 

Maze nods in agreeance, “She carries a knife, so It’s not like I’m worried.”

 

Amenadiel smiles, “I didn’t say you were.”

 

Maze turns to him, her eyes squint momentarily before she turns back to watch the TV.

 

Maze and Amenadiel turn back to the TV and watch in silence.

**\--**

In Chloe’s bathroom, Lucifer stands in her shower, his hands wiping body wash off his bare chest. He stands there, a pleased smile on his face as he relives the memories of the previous night.

 

She was so beautiful, and if he hadn’t been obsessed with her before, now he _absolutely_ was. He could only imagine what she will sound like when she is unbridled in his penthouse. There she could let her moans and screams fill his ears.

 

He would break her and reassemble her inside the walls of a room that had seen so many women crumble before her.

 

He briefly wonders if bringing her back, there is a good idea. He didn’t want her to think she is like anyone else.

 

No, his affection for her was exclusive.

 

She deserved a room where no other woman had _dared_ to imagine themselves in her position.

 

He hears the sound of a door behind him unlatching and smiles.

 

“Did you change your mind about our morning affairs?” he asks, turning toward the bathroom door.

 

“Because I can accommodate you if you-“

 

 His smile falls when he sees the door is still locked.

 

His eyebrows furrow.

 

He stares at the door for a second, a strange and unsettled feeling in his body. He turns to the faucet and shuts the water off, dipping the bathroom into silence as water drips off his skin.

 

He stands there for a moment. Maybe she peeked in on him?

 

“Darlin-“ he begins to say, stepping forward towards the glass door. He is stopped in his tracks as an incredible wave of nausea hits him.

 

He catches himself on the glass of the shower before bringing a hand up to his mouth. He gags for a second, feeling something coming up. He puts his mouth over his hand, trying to keep it down. He gags again, this time a strength behind it that is hard to keep back. His other hand falls over his stomach, he can feel it churning like something inside of it is alive and ready to get out.

 

He gags again this time, unable to hold it back as a torrent of black tar leaves his mouth. It flows through the cracks in his fingers and down his arm. Here it falls to the tile beneath him before finally flowing down the drain.

 

He continues to vomit, abandoning holding it in with his hand and turning to lean directly over the drain. It flows from him like a violent waterfall. When he has a moment of reprieve, he gasps for air, only to be overwhelmed again by a torrential downpour of the dark, sticky substance.

 

When it is over, he gasps for air, breathing heavily. Still crouched over the drain, he waits there for something else to happen.

 

“Lucifer!” he hears as footsteps come up the steps.

 

Quickly, he cuts on the shower, washing the remnants of tar off his face and cleaning the tile beneath him. His hands visibly shake. He slides the resin down the drain with his feet before catching himself, sudden lightheadedness falling over him.

 

The door opens, and Chloe pops her head in, “Lucifer, you have to see this,” she says.

 

He reaches forward and shuts off the water before turning to her with a smile.

 

“I don’t believe I’d get tired of looking at you,” he says.

 

She shakes her head, “Come downstairs,” she says before she disappears, the door still open.

 

His smile falls, and he reaches out to slide the door of the shower open. He steps out, his legs feeling weak, and his muscles aching.

 

Immediately he is faced with himself in the mirror. He looks pale, and he starts to notice dark circles around his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in ages.

 

He approaches the sink and leans up against the counter. He reaches a hand up and pulls at the circles beneath his eyes.

 

 _Mortal_ , he thinks.

 

If he were going to be mortal, he would need a new skincare regime. He was looking _absolutely_ wretched.

 

He grabs a towel off the counter and wraps it around his waist before he exits the bathroom and slowly descends the stairs.

**\--**

In the upscale hotel room, Calmos lays comfortably in bed, still dead asleep. He sleeps soundly and deeply for someone who had never had a wink of sleep in their life. He takes to it like a duck to water. Even more, it seems like he needs it. He lays, his eyes shut, and his body still.

 

At the foot of the bed, crumpled onto the floor, lays another body – still and unmoving. Despite this, however, his eyes are open – and a pale grey. He stares at the ceiling, clearly devoid of life or thought. This body is just an empty vessel.

 

Still, this body breathes like it knows how to. Like it’s familiar with being left alone.

 

Suddenly, despite it being daylight, the room grows ten times darker and colder. The breath above the body on the ground starts to be visible as if the room has just become cooler.

 

In the bed, a sleeping Calmos pulls the covers tighter, his gentle breathing now cold as well.

 

There is a gentle whisper in the room, one that feels both far away and close at the same time before suddenly, the form on the ground gasps. Its eyes turn back to a light hazel, and Ezria sits up, catching his breath.

 

The second he sits up, he grimaces, his body hurting from spending a night on the ground. He had not forgotten what it felt like to be in his body, but he had forgotten about much it hurt. To suddenly be weighed down again. It felt like he was trapped again, except this cage was made of flesh and bone.

 

He leans up on his feet and stands, his bones popping and cracking as he does so. He stares out into the daytime city of Los Angeles before turning to see Calmos still sleeping.

 

He tilts his head and watches him for a moment before smiling. His smile falls as he remembers why he left his body in the first place. He had let the darker side of him in, he had stared into his own eyes, tempted himself, let _him_ take control.

 

He had to leave, Ezria tells himself, he had to let _him_ have free reigns in the city. Otherwise, who knows how Calmos would look at him. He didn’t care what demons thought, but … Calmos wasn’t a demon, was he? And if he were …

 

Ezria sighs and turns to a nearby chair. He moves to sit in it, facing out towards the city, his mind racing through a million thoughts at once.

 

Could he protect Calmos? Could he maintain that distance? If Calmos were to truly become his sentinel, Ezria would have access to him all the time. Could he live without touching Calmos the way he wanted? Permission or not?

 

Ezria scoffs.

 

It’s preposterous, he thinks, that he even has to worry about this.

 

He’s an Angel!

 

He should be able to do as he pleases, when he pleases, and with whom he pleases. Calmos would be lucky to have him as a lover.

 

His eyes turn back to start at a sleeping Calmos.

 

Calmos seamed peaceful and comfortable and … safe.

 

The offense in Ezria’s eyes fall, and he sits there, staring at Calmos. Watching him like a gargoyle crouched on top of a Cathedral.

 

What was more important? He thinks, his desire to keep Calmos close or Calmos’ safety.

 

It was only a matter of time before _he_ came out again, especially around a half-human.

 

He turns his eyes back to the city and just stares at it in silence. Then he lets go of an exasperated sigh and nods.

 

Calmos’ safety was more important, he decides.

 

Especially considering what Ezria did last night.

**\--**

 

Chloe begins to descend the steps into the bullpen, her mind flooded with thoughts of the previous night, of the case, of Trixie, and of Dan.  Things were still so out of control, and she was still uncertain about a lot of things. But at least she and Lucifer were okay. At least they finally had sex, and he didn’t seem _less_ interested in her. That was a relief.

 

Things were going to be okay.

 

She looks up and pauses as she stares out at a bullpen filled with cops and civilians. It is completely full, and every desk has two cops tirelessly working on paperwork.

 

Meanwhile, police are walking around carrying paperwork back and forth from the copy room to officers, trying to speed up the process. Half the officers here aren’t even from homicide, she notes, they are clearly from other departments.

 

Chloe furrows her eyebrows and descends the steps, looking around. She makes it to her desk when an officer walks by, his head deep in a file.

 

“Hey, what’s going on,” she asks, setting her stuff on her desk.

 

He looks up and sighs, shaking his head.

 

“City had a huge influx of crime last night. Like, a _ridiculous_ amount. Like everyone suddenly lost their fucking mind. Robbery, Petty Crimes, and Vice are all madhouses. At one point, we had six police vans loaded with perps. Night shift has never seen this much work, so homicide is helping them with some of the paperwork so they can go home and rest. They earned it.”

 

He looks at the file in his hands and smiles.

 

“In fact,” he says, handing her the file, “welcome to hell.”

 

She looks at the paperwork and rolls her eyes.

 

“How fitting,” she says with a smile.

 

He smiles and is ready to head back to his desk when an arm comes across him and stops him. He turns to see Lieutenant Natalie Edwards reaching over him and grabbing the file from Chloe.

 

“Actually,” she says, taking the file and handing it back to him, “Detective Decker is on an important homicide case. I’d rather her continue working the case than being sidetracked with another department’s work.”

 

“But,” he begins to protest.

 

“I understand we had an _unprecedented_ rise in crime, but our homicide department still has to function. You have my officers, let me have my Detectives.”

 

He sighs and nods, “Fine,” he says, grumbling as he walks away.

 

Chloe turns to Natalie. Natalie smiles and nods.

 

“You can thank me later,” she says, turning and walking away.

 

“Are you sure I shouldn’t be helping?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie turns to her and shakes her head.

 

“Your casework is more important. If you truly want to help, finish your case. Then you can deal with beat cop paperwork.”

 

Chloe nods, “Okay,” she says.

 

She sits down at her desk and briefly looks up to watch other officers swamped with work. It seems unfair, but … she wasn’t one to bite the hand that fed her.

 

Especially Natalie’s hand. The Lieutenant was hard to read, and she definitely didn’t want to be on her bad side.

 

She types in her password, and the computer goes to her desktop. Then, she clicks on a program to open her mail. She gets a ding as a new email comes in. She looks at it for a second and shakes her head.

 

“What?” she says.

 

She clicks on the email and opens it before reading it. It’s a confirmation of release for the body of Frederick Miles.

 

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” she says as she presses print on the screen and then logs out of her station.

 

She stands up and walks a few feet into a copy room before standing at the printer and waiting. And officer comes by her and picks up a stack of papers from the printer next to her.

 

She didn’t authorize his body to be released. She never signed off any of that, why … why would they release his body? This had to be a mistake. Given the amount of paperwork the station had that day, it had to be just a simple clerical error.

 

The printer whirrs to life and spits out a piece of paper. She grabs it, verifies it is hers.

 

“How did you get so lucky?” he asks jokingly before he walks away.

 

She smiles and shrugs, looking up from her paper. She watches him walk away and stares out into the station again. It is all hands on deck.

 

She wanted to help, but she wanted more to fix this error.

 

She turns and heads down the hallway towards the morgue.

**\--**

Inside Lucifer Penthouse, the elevator doors open. Lucifer and Amenadiel pour out of it, already deep into that conversation.

 

“We need that book,” Lucifer says immediately, going to his bar and pouring himself a glass.

 

“That is an understatement, Luci,” Amenadiel says, approaching the bar, “What if those chapters tell us what is happening to you? Or even better, how to stop it?”

 

Lucifer pauses and turns to Amenadiel. He remembers that he hasn’t yet told Amenadiel what he knows.

 

He looks at him for a moment then turns back to his glass.

 

“Right, yes. I suppose now would be the time to break the news,” Lucifer says, downing the shot of his whiskey and pouring another.

 

Amenadiel narrows his eyes.

 

“What news?” he asks.

 

Lucifer pulls the glass up to his lips and pauses. Would this affect him now? He had become accustomed to the taste, without the effect. What if he were able to feel the impact of alcohol now? Would he become a cheap date? He scoffs.

 

Oh, the Detective might like that, he thinks, smiling to himself. He pauses again, and his smile fades.

 

What kind of drunk would he be? What if he becomes angry? What if he involves himself in other women?

 

He looks at the drink again and sets it down, deciding it probably best he does not test the drunk waters just yet. At least not at eight in the morning.

 

He turns to Amenadiel to see Amenadiel still waiting on him to say something.

 

Right, he thinks.

 

“Have a seat,” Lucifer says, pointing to the barstool.

 

“Luci, just tell me. I don’t have the patience for your usual theatrics.”

 

“I’m not being theatrical,” Lucifer says offended, “Not that you appreciate it mind you. I just think it best you be seated for what I have to tell you.”

 

Amenadiel rolls his eyes and sits.

 

“Okay, I’m seated.”

 

Lucifer nods.

 

“I spoke with Father yesterday,” Lucifer says.

 

“You spoke with Father?” Amenadiel asks, to clarify.

 

Lucifer nods.

 

“He told me I am becoming mortal. Human.”

 

Amenadiel looks at Lucifer, but more so past him than anything else.

 

“Well?” Lucifer says, looking at a staring Amenadiel, “I assure you this change has been far more unpleasant for me than you. I’ve had a hell of a morning, no pun intended.”

 

Amenadiel just looks forward, like a deer in headlights. Lucifer scoffs and turns, heading up the steps to his closet.

 

“If I had known that would shut you up, I would have told you sooner,” he says, peeling off the short-sleeved shirt he is wearing.

 

He had to meet the Detective at the station, but he needed to change into a clean shirt and shorts first.

 

Amenadiel pauses and shakes his head, unsure he had heard what he just heard.

 

“You spoke to father?” he asks, the tone in his voice serious.

 

“Spoke to, spoken at, you know how it is with him,” Lucifer says from the closet.

 

“And you went to the Silver city to do so?” Amenadiel asks.

 

Lucifer scoffs, annoyed, “I don’t believe that is the part that is _the most_ troubling brother. Perhaps you’d like me to go over the key points.”

 

Lucifer exits his closet, wearing only a pair of green boxer briefs.

 

He laughs, his arms held wide.

 

“Look!” he says, “I’m not hot anymore. Well, temperature-wise, I mean. Aesthetically I’m still _very_ much a catch.”

 

 _That’s the second time_ , Amenadiel thinks.

 

One more time and Lucifer would be lost entirely. It would usher in the final war, the catastrophic fight between good and evil.

 

The end of time.

 

What would happen to Linda?

 

Amenadiel steps forward, his eyes intense.

 

“You went to the Silver City again?” he asks, one more time grasping at anything to make it not true.

 

Perhaps Lucifer misspoke, or he had misheard.

 

Lucifer sighs, “Yes, do keep up, Amenadiel. I understand this is a lot to process, but do remember it is happening to _me_.”

 

Amenadiel moves forward as Lucifer turns to go back into his closet.

 

“Luci, listen to me. You _cannot_ go back to the Silver City. Okay? You _can’t_ go back.”

 

Lucifer turns and looks at Amenadiel.

 

“Calm down, brother. I assure you I have no intention of returning to that place. Had father not defied my direct punishment by bringing Abel back I-

 

“Wait, Abel is back?”

 

Amenadiel raises his hand, this being too much information condensed into one sitting.

 

“Yes,” Lucifer says, happy to see someone as caught off guard by it as he is, “You know you seem to be taking this Mortal thing much better than I expected.”

 

Amenadiel turns and lowers himself back in the chair, suddenly feeling the need to sit down.

 

He covers his hand over his face as Lucifer turns to head back into his closet.

 

“Wait,” he says, trying to parse this all, “Abel is back from …”

 

“Being torn apart and spread across the Universe, Yes. Abel has been given a third chance at life. He’s like a cat that one. He came to me last night, begging me to end him.”

 

“and you are becoming mortal,” Amenadiel says, it still not seeming real.

 

“That is what he told me, “Lucifer says from the closet.

 

Amenadiel turns and looks at the glass of whiskey on the bar. He grabs it and downs it in one go.

 

Lucifer walks out of the closet dressed in a pair of tight blue slacks. He buttons a white button-up, pleased that he gets to wear actual clothing again.

 

“You know, I don’t quite understand why but I find the idea of mortality to be rather exciting. _Imagine_. Experiencing aging and death,” Lucifer says.

 

Lucifer pauses, his eyes moving up into his head as he thinks.

 

“I imagine that is one way to keep me in hell,” he says, laughing to himself.

 

“You seem calm about this,” Amenadiel says, annoyed at the levity Lucifer is showing to the situation, “why are you not upset?”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “Brother if there is anything that this whole experience has taught me, it is that there is no point in getting upset about things I cannot change. Father wants me to react, and I choose not to.”

 

“That’s what you do,” Amenadiel says, “That is your thing.”

 

Lucifer shakes his head, “I was young and prideful. Defying Father’s wishes at every turn was my way of rejecting him as he rejected me. But I’m a man now, Amenadiel. It takes far greater strength to not react than to react.”

 

Amenadiel stares at Lucifer, unsure of what to say, but certain he didn’t like any of it.

 

Lucifer laughs at Amenadiel’s confusion.

 

“Don’t you see? This way, I can truly be with Chloe. I can experience a full life with someone who loves me and die at a ripe old age. Then ... well … then I suppose I will go back to hell and rule it for all eternity. Quite frankly, it seems as though I’ve gotten off easy.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head and stands, “Luci, this can’t happen. If you become human, you’re going to lose everything. Your station in the silver city, your rule of Hell.”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “And none of that is important to me. It has never been important to me,” he says, tucking his shirt into his pants.

 

“We must stop this,” Amenadiel says, “this cannot happen.”

 

Lucifer sighs, turning to go back into his closet.

 

“It’s happening, Amenadiel.”

 

Amenadiel grunts and stands, now angry.

 

“So then you don’t care, is that it? I’m busting my ass to try and keep your divinity, and you just … you don’t care?!”

 

Lucifer comes out of his closet, a jacket draped over his body.

 

“You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself!” Amenadiel continues.

 

Lucifer furrows his eyebrows and stares at Amenadiel.

 

“So you’re becoming mortal, and you don’t care, great. But what about me? What about how I feel? Or what I think or what I feel?”

 

Lucifer stares at him, lowering his hands from fixing his cufflinks.

 

“Are you afraid, Brother?” Lucifer asks, a real concern behind his eyes.

 

“Luci, are you not? I mean, mortal? You keep playing with fire, and now you’ve gotten burned. Even worst, you _refuse_ help. What am I supposed to do? Watch you burn yourself alive?”

 

Lucifer watches him as if the thought that Amenadiel truly cared is finally seeping into his bones. He shakes his head no.

 

“This whole time, you’ve been pushing an ulterior motive,” he says, unconvinced, “and suddenly, you want me to believe you’re on my side?”

 

Amenadiel scoffs, “my ulterior motive is _you_ , you prick. I’m trying to save you.”

 

“I don’t want to be saved,” he says simply, “I’m finally happy where I am.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “You’re halfway through your fall, Luci. It's good now, but you still have your immortality. You still have your divinity. _Think_. Truly think about what it would mean for you to become human.”

 

Lucifer turns his eyes downward, genuinely thinking about the consequences of doing nothing. On the one hand, he could be with Chloe. He would watch her age. He could watch her become more beautiful, even when her skin sags and her bones are brittle.

 

He wanted to be there for her in ways he couldn’t for any of the other mortals he had dared to feel for. He wanted to be able to cradle her in his arms as Azrael took her to the Silver City. Perhaps he couldn’t follow her, but he would spend his whole mortal life following her - worshipping her - if it meant he could love her and she would love him.

 

On the other hand, what happens after she is gone? When Chloe disappears from the earth and he is left to age and become brittle alone, then what?

 

Where did the devil go when he dies?

 

Would he just go back to Hell as King? Or would he end up in one of the cells, replaying his own guilt? He imagines that guilt might still be Uriel or maybe even Chloe.

 

Or would his new life as a human come with a clean slate? Would he be able to die and go back to the Silver City with her? Did he want that?

 

Suddenly the idea of mortality is weighty again. He had been light and carefree, but now it was a burden. He didn’t know enough to make that choice. He needed to know more, he needed to be able to make the decision.

 

Did he want to allow it to happen and be with Chloe? Or Defy Father and find a way to retain his divinity? Perhaps that is what Father wanted him to do, to fight instead of willingly surrender.

 

He doesn’t think it is a battle he wants to win. The prospect of being with Chloe, truly being with her was all he could think about. Still, perhaps Amenadiel was right in insisting he look at all his options.

 

He looks up at Amenadiel to find Amenadiel staring back at him, waiting for an answer.

 

“We need that book,” Lucifer says, the sadness and confusion of his decision in his voice.

 

Amenadiel nods and heads for the balcony.

 

“Say no more,” he says.

 

Lucifer watches as Amenadiel spreads his wings and flies, presumably off to Cairo. He stands there alone for a moment before looking down and fiddling with his cufflinks.

 

 _Right_ , he thinks, _he had to go to the station_.

 

He walks back into the closet to get a tie, the wind suddenly sucked out of his sails and a dark cloud hovering over his head.

**\--**

The morgue at the precinct is clean and cold and silent. So, when the door opens, and Natalie Edwards steps through it, the sound of bustling and milling about seeps in from the outside, drowning the morgue in a liveliness that seems out of place.

 

The door slowly shuts as she turns to make sure no one is coming in behind her. When it closes completely, the room is then again dipped into silence, save for the soft hum of coolers keeping the bodies inside of them cold.

 

Natalie walks forward, into the morgue and in between the heavy steel doors, looking around. She makes sure the coast is clear. It was quiet and still.

 

She needed it to be quiet and still.

 

Satisfied she is alone, she turns to the plaques on the steel doors and begins to read the names on them. They mean nothing to her. They might as well be names on a file or in a newspaper.

 

She can’t fit a face to them, or a voice or a persona. They are just names.

 

Until she finds a name that isn’t just a name.

 

_Frederick Miles._

 

She pauses at the door and stands there, unsure if she should. She wanted, she needed, to say goodbye. They had spent too much time together, too many wonderfully painful hours, to just end the way it did.

 

She checks around again to make sure she is alone before reaching out and turning the latch on the door. She pulls it open, and with it comes the metal slab and the cold body that lays on it – covered in a thin white sheet.

 

She pulls the drawer out, the cold air escaping and dissipating into the room until his torso is entirely out of the drawer.

 

She stands there for a moment, staring down at the white sheet and willing herself to keep going.

She turns to a small table near the door where a box of blue medical gloves sits. She walks over to it and pulls out two gloves. Slowly, she puts them on, her back turned to the body. She blinks, trying to calm the beating in her heart and the pulling inside her chest.

 

Once the gloves are snapped on, she slowly turns back to the body before approaching it. She looks down at the sheet, straightens her back, and reaches out, pulling the sheet first down off his face.

 

His face is completely gone. There are only remnants of skin here to speak of. The rest is muscle and bone. This wasn’t the Fred she knew, she thinks.

 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so hard?

 

She pulls the sheet down further, down his torso, and lets it fold right below his belly button. Here, she sets it down, enough to cover his dignity but leave her in full view of his abdomen.

 

Here the markings of their adventures and time together are in full view.

 

Here she can see the scars and the burns. The divots in his side from where they had to perform their own stitching. The dark blue streaks on the side of his body from where her whip hit him a little too hard. He had screamed, he had doubled over in pain, but then he had asked for more.

 

He always asked for more.

 

A small smile forms on the side of her mouth, but it isn’t a happy smile. It is the smile of someone remembering fond moments while trying hard to not dwell on the present, the _reality_.

 

She reaches a hand out, and lovingly feels the marks on his ribs. She reads them like a blind woman would read braille. She closes her eyes, shaking her head.

 

 _Murder_ , she thinks.

 

She had never lost a client to murder.

 

She opens her eyes, and then her hands land on a small scar that runs across his belly. She touches it, tracing the raised flesh with her finger.

 

Her jaw starts to quiver as she tries to keep it in, the thoughts and feelings that kept repeating to her that she had lost someone important.

 

The thoughts that suggest maybe Fred would have stayed.

 

Maybe he wouldn’t have chosen another Mistress. Maybe he would have kept coming to her until Mistress Carmen had aged. Or until the pain became too much for his wrinkled skin and brittle bones.

 

She brings her wrist up to her mouth, trying to keep it still as her eyes start to burn. She tries to hold in, but the more she stares at the scars, the more it hurts.

 

 _Murdered_ , she thinks again.

 

He wasn’t a young man, but he was young enough. He was full of life and energy. He had so much more potential for pain and pleasure and … everything life had to offer. He was smart and often funny. He would crack a joke during their sessions, and despite Mistress not being pleased with his insubordination, Natalie often found it amusing.

 

She stutters, despite not speaking, as a cry tries to escape. She locks it in, holding onto that, trying to keep it from coming out.

 

 _Who would want to murder him?_ She thinks.

 

He kept to himself and was the only client she felt could hold her secret well. She had left a voicemail for him precisely because she knew he would erase it the moment he heard it. But he had been murdered. He had been murdered, and yet again, her comfort with another human being was leading to pain.

 

It wasn’t his fault. No, it was _her_ fault. It was her fault that she expected so much from others. That she drove them away with her demands and need for everything to have its place. Fred was murdered, yes, but eventually, he would have left her for another Mistress.

 

They all left.

 

 _People_ left.

 

That guilt settles into her body and curls itself into a ball where every negative emotion Natalie has felt over the past few days builds and builds until, eventually, the pressure can’t be contained.

 

Slowly, she gives up, this emotion too strong for her to fight, and she reaches a hand up – the one that didn’t touch him – and covers her mouth. She closes her eyes as she weeps, trying to be as silent as possible.

 

Natalie is falling apart. Mistress would _never_.

 

Her left-hand wraps around her waist as she doubles over and opens her mouth, a silent wail falling from her.

 

Perhaps it was Frank’s death, or more likely, maybe it was everything. Years of mourning coming out in one go, unable to stem the tide any longer.

 

Mourning the loss of her friends who have long since moved from the city.

 

Mourning the loss of a youth filled with questioning and abandonment.

 

Mourning the loss of Liz, the only woman she had ever truly loved.

 

Mourning the loss of time, of hope, of being able to be one complete person instead of two.

 

Mistress and Natalie were different, but they wanted the same things.

 

And now, Fred had crossed into both of their lives and openly stuck a knife into the single crack in her walls.

 

 _Murdered,_ she thinks, _he never had a choice to leave_.

 

At least when people left on their own free will, she could blame them. She could turn them into monsters. Fred didn’t have a choice. Perhaps life was … unjust.

 

She stands up and turns to him, making herself look again. As if that would make it better. As if her logical brain would kick in any second and know that _this_ wasn’t Fred. She needed this to not be Fred.

 

Instead, she finds Chloe, standing on the other side of the slab, her eyebrows furrowed and her jaw slack. She stares, not sure what she is looking at but certain she isn’t meant to see it.

 

Natalie immediately turns her back to Chloe, her heart beating fast in her chest.

 

“Detective Decker,” she says with a weak voice. It is heavy with sadness.

 

Natalie clears her throat, trying to make her sound less like she is crying as she wipes her eyes with her shirt collar, “What are you doing here?”

 

“I uh,” Chloe says, her eyes moving down to an uncovered Fred, “I came to fix a mix-up.”

 

She looks at Natalie again, Natalie’s back is turned to her. Natalie wipes her eyes and sniffles, trying to reclaim some semblance of having her shit together.

 

Chloe turns back down to Fred, and then it all makes sense.

 

Why Natalie had been so keen on keeping track of this case. Why she had kept Chloe working despite the station needing her.

 

“You knew him,” Chloe says, putting it all together.

 

Natalie nods and wipes her eyes before turning to Chloe.

 

They meet eyes only for a second before Natalie looks away, back down to Fred.

 

“Yes,” she says, again clearing her throat, trying to put the pieces of herself back together.

 

“Fred and I met a few years ago,” she says, reaching over to the sheet and pulling it slowly over him.

 

Her eyes momentarily take one last look at the scars on his body before she pulls the sheet over his face.

 

“We became friends,” she says, looking back at Chloe, defying the need in her to look away.

 

Denying her want to hide the shame of crying in public, of _breaking_ in front of someone else.

 

“and I don’t have many friends as you can imagine,” she says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, still shocked by an uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability from the Lieutenant.

 

“I’m sure you do,” she says, unsure of what to say.

 

Natalie smiles momentarily before her smile fades again.

 

“He was like family to me,” she says, looking at his sheet-covered body.

 

“That’s why you were so adamant about keeping me working on the case. I … I’m sorry I didn’t catch that sooner. I would have –“

 

“It’s fine,” Natalie says, pushing the slab slowly back into the cold drawer and turning the latch, locking it closed.

 

“I … I wanted a chance to mourn him,” she says, her eyes threatening to water up again.

 

“I haven’t really ever … lost someone like him,” Natalie says.

 

Chloe nods, crossing her arms.

 

“I truly am sorry. I had no idea,” Chloe says.

 

“Of course not. If you had known, would you have allowed me to oversee you?” Natalie asks.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Officially, no, but … off the record?”

 

Natalie nods.

 

“We will find whoever did this. You’re one of us now and … a friend of yours is a friend of ours,” she says.

 

Natalie lets go of an amused scoff and turns to head towards the door.

 

“I believe now I understand why this department has such an issue with fraternization,” she says.

 

Chloe’s eyebrows furrow, “There is nothing wrong with relying on others,” she says.

 

Natalie lets go of a small smile, “I beg to differ,” she says, pulling the gloves off her hands, “I didn’t get where I am by relying on others.”

 

A rogue tear falls from her eyes onto her wrist. She reaches up and wipes her eyes before sniffing and turning to toss the gloves into the bin.

 

“Our closing rates are high because we work really well together. We all work really well together because we talk to each other,” Chloe says with a smile, noticing Natalie slipping back into the cold, reserved Lieutenant.

 

Perhaps she needed that, Chloe thinks. She needed to hide that pain behind a title, a job.

 

“Mm,” Natalie nods, her mind clearly somewhere else.

 

Natalie turns to exit.

 

“Lieutenant,” Chloe says.

 

Natalie turns as Chloe approaches her.

 

“You were the one who authorized the release of his body, weren’t you?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie nods, “Was I wrong? I believe you were finished gathering evidence from him and … I thought he shouldn’t have to sit alone here for longer than necessary. I mean, we have limited space.”

 

Chloe nods, knowing it isn’t just about space.

 

“Okay,” she says, nodding, “but for future reference, I’d like to be notified _before_ this type of authorization. You know, so I don’t look like an idiot when I claim it must be a clerical error.”

 

Natalie nods.

 

“Usually, I am the one doling out the criticisms,” Natalie says, “but in this instance, I suppose I … _may_ have overstepped a boundary or two. My apologies. I will be more upfront about any _personal_ connections I may have while overseeing your cases.”

 

Chloe nods, her arms crossed.

 

Natalie moves to leave before she pauses. She grits her jaw and turns back to Chloe.

 

“I do apologize for my outburst,” Natalie says, “I assure you it will not happen again.”

 

Chloe smiles, “It’s okay. If it makes you feel any better, I still find you terrifying.”

 

Natalie guffaws and nods.

 

“Carry on, Detective,” Natalie says, turning and walking away.

 

The door slowly begins to Close as Chloe stands there, her arms crossed, parsing the interaction from the last few minutes. As the door is just about to close, Lucifer walks by and turns his head towards it before stopping in his tracks as he sees Chloe.

 

The door shuts before immediately opening. Chloe looks up to see Lucifer donned in a full suit and tie combo. She looks at him, shocked he isn’t wearing his linen outfit anymore.

 

“Ah, there you are,” Lucifer says, approaching her.

 

He immediately wraps his arms around her and leans in, kissing her softly. She accepts it before backing away and looking around to make sure no one saw that.

 

“There are only dead people in here I’m afraid,” Lucifer says, wanting there to be an audience.

 

She rolls her eyes and looks down at his suit.

 

“you’re back to your suits,” she says, a question beneath her statement as she runs her hand down the fabric his jacket.

 

“Ah yes,” he says, backing away from her for a moment, and opening the lapel of his suit jacket, “I must say it’s quite nice to be back in premium cotton. I believe that linen was rubbing me in all the wrong places.”

 

She chuckles, and her eyes fall down the length of his body, a visible hunger in her eyes. He looked good in his suits. _Real_ good. He sees her eyeing him over and smiles.

 

“I imagine this is what it looks like when one doesn’t get breakfast and suddenly finds themselves hungry,” he says as he moves forward and starts to kiss on her neck.

 

“Lucifer,” she says, pulling him away again, “I’m at work and … we’re in a morgue.”

 

“Oh come on, they won’t tell,” he says.

 

Chloe grunts in disgust and pulls away from him. Her phone vibrates, and she reaches for it. Lucifer leans in to kiss her neck again, and she pushes him away.

 

“Hello?” she asks.

 

She listens for a moment as Lucifer stands next to her, completely given up on trying to get her in the mood. He supposed all the dead bodies lying around did make things a bit more complicated.

 

“Alright, we’ll be right there,” Chloe says before pressing the end call button on her phone.

 

She turns to Lucifer, who stands with a grin on his face.

 

“You’re impossible,” she says.

 

“If not here, perhaps you’d like to journey to the storage room? Or, I know an excellent stairwell with very little through traffic.”

 

“The guy we pulled from Fred’s phone is here to interview,” Chloe says, putting her phone into her pocket and ignoring what he is saying.

 

She wants to not give him an inch to turn into a mile, but she would be a fool to say she didn’t briefly consider it. The storage room had already been tainted by her and Cain, but the stairwell _did_ sound like a good option.

 

She ignores that, but the idea lays planted in the back of her mind as she turns towards the door. She opens it and turns to Lucifer, who just stands there.

 

“Are you coming?” she says before pausing, realizing her turn of phrase.

 

He smiles and is about to say something when she pauses.

 

“We’re in a morgue, Lucifer,” she says, reminding him of how inappropriate whatever he is about to say might be.

 

He sighs and nods before walking towards the door and following Chloe as she leaves.

 

**\--**

Without his collar and belted harness, Master Elliot – or rather Perry Morgan – looks like a normal person. Whatever _normal_ means.

 

He sits in the metal chair in front of the metal table in an empty interrogation room. If it weren’t for what he did on the side, this would seem intimidating.

 

But he’s put people through worst pain than sitting and waiting to hear from a Detective.

 

He sighs and turns his eyes to the glass of the two-way mirror. He liked the idea of someone watching him. If he ever got out of here, and if Mistress Carmen ever came out of hiding, he would have to speak with her about incorporating watching into their play time.

 

The door opens, and Chloe enters, followed by Lucifer.

 

Perry sits up in his chair, pleased at the two attractive people he gets to speak with.

 

“Mr. Morgan,” Chloe says, “thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”

 

He smiles and nods, “When the cops tell you to come in for questioning, you don’t just ignore them.”

 

Chloe nods and sits, setting the file in her hand on the table. Lucifer takes his seat next to her and crosses his legs, getting comfortable.

 

Perry looks at him, then down at the file, then back at Lucifer. Lucifer was effortlessly charming. He wasn’t even saying anything, but Perry can’t stop looking.

 

“Oh,” Lucifer says pleased at how Perry is looking at him, “That never gets old. I’m taken, unfortunately, but I appreciate the offer.”

 

Chloe ignores Lucifer and looks up at Perry.

 

“Do you have any idea why we called you in today?” Chloe asks.

 

Perry’s eyes slowly shift from Lucifer, and he turns to Chloe. He shrugs.

 

“All I know is you wanted to ask me about a case? Your message didn’t tell me much.”

 

Chloe nods.

 

“Do you have any guess as to why you are here?” she asks.

 

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Why don’t you ask me the real question you want to ask me, Detective?”

 

Lucifer smiles.

 

“Oh, not falling for the old self-incrimination trick. This one’s going to be fun,” Lucifer says pleased.

 

“Incrimination?” Perry asks, “I can’t incriminate myself if I haven’t done anything wrong. I mean, unless you’re trying to bust me for a candy bar I stole in high school, then I have nothing to confess to.”

 

Chloe nods, “Okay, let’s start with what we know.”

 

She opens the file and slides a driver's license photo of Frederick Miles across to him. He looks down at it, a look of recognition falling over his face and his smile falling.

 

“Do you know this man?” she asks.

 

He looks up at her and nods.

 

“Yes?” she asks.

 

“Yes,” he says.

 

“In what capacity did you know Mr. Miles?”

 

Miles, Perry thinks, so that was his last name. Odd, he would have that Fred’s surname was something more … Brazilian. He always has this Brazilian vibe around him.

 

“He was a client of mine,” Perry says, sitting back in his chair, suddenly tense.

 

Chloe sees his demeanor change. He’s going to call for a lawyer, she can feel it.

 

“Okay,” she says, “Well, were you aware that Mr. Miles was found deceased in his apartment on Monday morning?”

 

Perry’s face falls flat, and his eyeballs raise.

 

“Fred’s dead,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing as he takes in that information.

 

His eyes move away, searching the recesses of his mind as if remember the last time he spoke with Fred. If he knew that would be the last time he might have said goodbye. Or at least meant it.

 

Chloe nods.

 

“Oh,” he says, parsing that information.

 

Now he understands why Mistress was so panicked. Why she had called him to lay low. They both knew neither of them were responsible, but a woman in leather who turns up with a dead sub has suspect written all over her.

 

“I see,” he says.

 

“So, our question to you is, where were you Friday evening?”

 

Perry’s eyes snap to hers, and he shakes his head.

 

“Oh no, it wasn’t me! I swear. Friday, I was at wonderland all night, from eight till midnight.”

 

“Were you there alone?” she asks.

 

Perry shakes his head, “Wonderland is never empty,” he says.

 

“Can someone vouch for you?” she asks.

 

He pauses.

 

Mistress could, but that would never happen.

 

He could call on any number of their clients, but the more of her clients he exposed, the more information they could get about Mistress. Mistress needed to be protected.

 

“No,” he says.

 

Chloe nods, her eyes moving up into her head as they narrow, “So you were alone then?” she asks.

 

He shakes his head, “No, I wasn’t, but … but I don’t have anyone who could, who _would_ vouch for me. Wonderland is all about privacy, anonymity in some cases. Requiring someone to give you an alibi kind of goes against that, doesn’t it?”

 

“So, what were you doing at Wonderland? Were you there with a female?” she asks, already knowing the answer but looking for him to tell her.

 

He leans forward, not ready to give up any more information.

 

“Look, I was there, I didn’t do anything to Fred, either arrest me or let me talk to a lawyer.”

 

“Ohh,” Lucifer says hissing,” We’re pulling out that old card, huh?”

 

Perry rolls his eyes, “What are you, the bad cop?”

 

“You have no idea,” he says with a grin.

 

Chloe holds her hand out to Lucifer.

 

“Look, Mr. Morgan. We aren’t trying to blame you or judge you. We just need information. A man is dead, and we want to find his killer.”

 

Lucifer scoffs and leans forward.

 

“Besides, you don’t want to speak with a lawyer, do you?” he asks, staring into Perry’s eyes.

 

“Lucifer,” she says, cautioning him.

 

Perry stares into Lucifer’s eyes, slowly getting lost in them. His shoulders relax, and the tension in his face falls.

 

“No,” he says softly.

 

Chloe’s eyes switch to Perry.

 

“Then what is it you do desire, hmm? What does that little mortal heart of yours _truly_ want?”

 

Perry looks at him, the tension in his eyes slowly fading into a brief and all-encompassing comfort. It is a warmth he had been seeking, and the beauty of it makes him tear up.

 

Perry stares into Lucifer’s eyes, his shoulders dropping as the shield break themselves away.

 

 

“I …” he begins, the words being pulled out of him, seemingly unable and uninterested in stopping them.

 

Lucifer leans forward, his eyes boring deep into Perry’s soul.

 

“I … I want to protect her,” Perry says.

 

Lucifer frowns, that was not the juicy detail he wanted. Chloe sits up, her eyes raised as if that _was_ the detail she wanted.

 

“You’re protective of her?” she asks, “Why? Do you have feelings for her?”

 

Perry blinks as Lucifer sits back, trying to figure out why he had so willingly said that.

 

He turns to Chloe, his mind still confused, “What? No, I’m gay,” he says, his eyes briefly looking at Lucifer, wondering how he managed to make him say that.

 

“So then why the desire to protect her so much?” she asks.

 

“because it is what you do,” he says.

 

“She isn’t the warmest person. In fact, there are certain times she is truly terrifying,” he says, staring at the table fondly, “but she takes care of us. What she does, she does it in a way that is aggressive but attentive. It’s painful, but in that pain, there is freedom. I am … _we_ are protective of her because she is-“

 

Perry tries to find the word, but he can’t. He just stares off into nothingness, thinking fondly of all the memories he had ever had of her. Of Fred.

 

Fred was really dead.

 

“How did you two meet?” she asks, trying to keep him talking. She is seeking any information she can on this mystery woman.

 

Perry sighs.

 

“At wonderland. I was going there for a play session with my Master at the time. He was excellent, but … I didn’t feel a connection to him. I saw her walking down the hallway, and she just looked so powerful and so authoritative, but behind that was a … relief that is hard to punctuate.  She is not at all the loving type, but … it comes through. In its own unique ways, it comes through. I pledged my submission to her right there in the hallway.”

 

“So, you were her client, first?” Chloe says.

 

Perry nods.

 

“How did you two end up working together?” she asks.

 

“Well,” he says, “eventually she became more popular and more people wanted to play with her. She started fielding calls while I was tied up, and I got to hear what she had to deal with. I thought it was wrong that she had to deal with men who only wanted one thing.”

 

Perry starts to get angry, passionate about what he is saying, “She isn’t a _sex worker_.”

 

Chloe nods, “So you’ve never performed sexual favors in exchange for money?”

 

Perry looks at her like she’s crazy.

 

“No,” he says, disgusted, “Never. It’s not about sex.”

 

“Then what is it about?” Chloe asks, unfurling her arms to show him she isn’t judging, “I’m just curious because I want to understand,” she says, leaning forward.

 

He watches her lean forward, more comfortable in their conversation. It doesn’t feel like an interrogation anymore, just a conversation between friends.

 

Lucifer watches Chloe, pleased at how she’s teetered Perry from the edge of stonewalling them.

 

“Freedom,” Perry says, “taking the things that you can’t control and using that … that anxiety and anger and sadness and putting it into something useful. Hardening the body and mind.”

 

“So you use it as an outlet?” she asks.

 

He nods, “Some people play sports, others paint. I play.”

 

“So if there is nothing wrong with what you are doing, why be so secretive? I’m still confused about what you are protecting her from?” Chloe says sitting back, “because we don’t really care about what you do on your spare time-“

 

Lucifer interrupts, “Speak for yourself, Darling, I am wildly fascinated.”

 

Chloe turns to him and glares.

 

“What?” he says.

 

“We work under a veil,” Perry says, “I don’t know her name, she doesn’t know mine. My real name that is. We call her Mistress Carmen, and that’s about as much as we know about each other. Honest. It’s safer that way.”

 

“How long have you worked together?” Chloe asks.

 

Perry shrugs, “For a few years. Three maybe, four. It all blurs together.”

 

“And in all that time you haven’t once talked about your personal lives? Strange communication for partners in crime.”

 

“Again, there is nothing criminal about what we do,” Perry says, “It’s all above the board. Nothing sexual, no one gets touched or punished without their consent, and no one ever cums. It’s _not_ a sexual thing.”

 

“I couldn’t imagine not knowing anything about my partner,” Chloe says.

 

“Likewise, Darling,” Lucifer says with a smile.

 

Perry catches their glances and laughs. They seemed so familiar with each other.

 

He and Carmen weren’t like that at all.

 

Part of him wants to be, but the other part likes that he can pretend with her. Pretend to be stronger than he is.

 

“Partner is a … tricky word. We play together, yes, but we aren’t partners. Just co-workers. I protect her, and she protects me. It’s a symbiotic thing.”

 

“Huh, doesn’t look like you’re being protected right now,” Chloe says, “because you’re here and she’s not.”

 

Perry chuckles and sits back.

 

“Imagine the questions you would ask a woman in my shoes,” he says, leaning forward.

 

Chloe seems to take to heart what he is saying.

 

“How many times would she have to say it’s not sexual for you to believe her? Or would you even? Carmen may be a lot of things and true, I don’t know her like I want to, but I know her enough to know she doesn’t deserve that.”

 

“So, you’re protecting her from Judgement?” Chloe asks.

 

“People will think what they want to think. I’ve had enough experience with life as a gay man from a Mormon community to be able to handle judgment, but that doesn’t mean I would wish it on my worst enemy.”

 

“Or your partner,” Chloe says.

 

Perry nods.

 

“So that night, I take it you were there with … Carmen?” Chloe says, making sure to point out that she took note of the name he used.

 

He scoffs, amused, and shakes his head, “Yes. Until around ten.”

 

“Ten?” Chloe asks, “I thought you said you were there until midnight.”

 

“Yeah,” Perry says, annoyed, “I was there until midnight, she left around ten.”

 

“Do you normally leave at separate times?” Chloe asks.

 

Perry shakes his head, “Fred was supposed to show up at 9:15, he didn’t so we called someone to substitute. We pay for the rooms by the hour, and we had already paid for it, so we had someone take his place. Afterward, she left, and I stayed.”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “And she left at Ten?” she says, “ where did she go?”

 

Perry just stares at her as if she already knows the answer to that question.

 

“Right,” she says, “let me guess, you don’t know.

 

“I don’t ask,” he says, “Just like what happens in wonderland stays in wonderland, what happens in the real world stays in the real world.”

 

“Mm,” she nods.

 

Chloe turns to Lucifer, lowering her volume.

 

“Fred’s estimated time of death was around nine. If they were there until ten, that would put them way out of the window of opportunity,” she says, whispering to Lucifer.

 

He nods.

 

“Like I said,” Perry says, having heard them too,” We aren’t killers.”

 

Chloe turns back to him.

 

“We really need to speak with your partner,” Chloe says, “We know you are just trying to protect her, and we get that, but … a man is dead.”

 

“And we had nothing to do with that,” he says.

 

Chloe sighs, “Mr. Morgan,” she begins.

 

“Look,” he says, leaning forward, “I get it. I do. You just have a job to do, but even if I were willing to give you any information, the truth is I don’t have any. Like I said, we work under a veil. The whole of wonderland does. It’s called Wonderland because we can go in and become anyone we want. No names, no personal stories. All I know is that she goes by Carmen Redd, but I know that isn’t her real name, just like Elliot isn’t my real name. It’s a character, a façade. I don’t know anything about her and trust me, I’ve tried. I don’t know if she has a kid or a husband. I don’t know if she is educated if she lives in a van down by the river. _I don’t know._ So, I’m sorry. Even if I wanted to give you information on her – _which I don’t_ – I don’t have anything to give you.”

 

“Hmm,” Chloe says, sighing, thinking she’s at a dead-end, “what about her phone number? You must contact her someway.”

 

Perry shakes his head, “We’re in a burn after reading situation. I deleted her number from my phone a few days ago.”

 

“Why? You must have known we were going to call you in for questioning. That seems a bit suspicious, don’t you think?”

 

Perry shrugs, “I do what she asks. She called me saying she wanted to lay low for a bit, and I obliged.”

 

“And that didn’t seem off to you?”

 

Perry laughs, “She’s a strong woman living in a world that hates strong women. Maybe someone got close to finding out who she is, or maybe she wanted to take a break, I don’t know. What I do know is that she couldn’t have killed Fred. We were together. She was just as upset that he wasn’t there as I was.”

 

“Okay, well, maybe it wasn’t her. Maybe it was someone else at wonderland? and I’m sure they won’t be too fond of cops coming in there saying Elliot and Carmen called them.”

 

Perry laughs and shakes his head.

 

“And you wonder why I’m protecting her from you?”

 

Perry rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, “The people I pick all have something in common. They are all looking for … structure and discipline. A mother or a father figure. Carmen and I … _we_ help fulfill that for a lot of people. I sometimes think we fulfill it even for ourselves. Our clients aren’t murderers. Lost, sure. Sometimes pained, yes. But not murderers.”

**\--**

Lieutenant Natalie Edwards is sitting at her desk, trying to concentrate on work but finding it difficult. Her eyes stare forward, heavy with guilt and grief and a vulnerability that seems out of character for her. She was falling apart, piece by piece.

 

She had never lost someone like this. Leaving, sure. To another state or another Mistress, sure. But … death? _Murder?_

 

People would leave. People always leave, but … only ever of their own accord.

 

 _Never_ without their permission.

 

Fred is like her family.

 

He _was_ like her family.

 

She sighs and slides her hands up, covering her face and resting her elbows on the table.

 

She holds it for a second before a part of her brain kicks in and tells her she is in public. People can see her.

 

She sits up quickly and uncovers her face. She looks around to find no one is paying attention to her.

 

She clears her throat and sits back, trying to get back to work, trying to silence the rising tide of emotions that threatens to drown her. Everything she had been ignoring, fighting or hiding was coming up all at once.

 

She needed a stress reliever, but until this case was over, Mistress had to lay low. Maybe even a bit after this case was over. Maybe this was the wake-up call she needed to fully let Mistress go? But without her, she was …tense and boring and _average_. She had forgotten what it was like to be one person instead of two.

 

She looks up to see Maze walking towards her office. It takes her brain a moment to realize that Maze is staring right at her. She tilts her head.

 

 _What now?_ She thinks.

 

Maze walks in with a piece of paper and slaps it down on Natalie’s desk.

 

“This conversation never happened,” she says, a somber tone in her eyes.

 

Natalie furrows her eyebrows and cautiously takes the paper.

 

“What is this?” she asks.

 

“It’s my certification. So, you know, I can be a bounty hunter again,” Maze says.

 

Natalie chuckles to herself, amused, “Ms. Smith, the certification process is a sixty-hour course. There is no way –“

 

“I got wind of the certification a few months back. I figured I should take it when I had the time,” she says.

 

Natalie pauses and looks at her. She drops the paper in shock and partial annoyance.

 

“So why have you been so difficult if you’ve already taken it?” Natalie asks.

 

Maze shrugs, “I don’t like being told what to do.”

 

Natalie shakes her head, now annoyed. She slowly stands up, the paper in her hand.

 

“So you mean to tell me this whole time you’ve been certified, and I’ve been _worrying_ over nothing?”

 

Maze shrugs, “I didn’t ask you to worry if it makes you feel better.”

 

“I-,” Natalie says before pausing, a rage building in her that momentarily knocks all those sad thoughts out of her system, “I … I most certainly do not!”

 

“ _Look_ , I like my job,” Maze says, rolling her eyes and dropping her arms.

 

Natalie looks at her. Despite her stance and facial expression being commanding, Maze’s words are soft. It’s probably the most vulnerable she has ever seen Maze. It’s odd. She doesn’t like it.

 

“I really care about what I do. It’s probably the only thing on earth that makes me feel useful. I get to do what I’m good at, I make money, and I take care of people I’ve … I take care of my _friends_.”

 

Natalie stares at her. It was like staring into a mirror, except Maze didn’t seem split into two people. She was Maze all the time.

 

“I see,” Natalie says, nodding, her own shields dropping momentarily.

 

She wonders how Maze does it. How she dares to live as one person and not two. At one point, Natalie was one person. But that was before Liz.

 

Before Liz, she was happy and content with herself. She’s not sure she knows how to do that anymore.

 

“Good,” Maze says, “So now you can stop bitching about me not being certified and let me get more cases, right?”

 

Natalie nods. The look on her face is no longer angry but distant.

 

“I will make sure your supervisor knows you are clear to work with our department again.”

 

“Cool,” Maze says, turning to leave.

 

Natalie stands there, her eyes drifting off.

 

“And don’t tell anyone I told you that or I’ll break your arms,” she says, walking away.

 

Natalie looks back up at Maze as she crosses the threshold from her office into the bullpen, her mind racing a mile a minute.

 

“She cheated on me,” Natalie blurts out.

 

Maze pauses and turns to her.

 

“Last night, you asked me why we broke up,” Natalie says walking around her desk and sitting on the front side of it, “I didn’t see it as being any of your business but …  she cheated on me.”

 

Natalie brings her hand up to her neck and rubs it as she turns and walks back to her chair. She is torn, thinking about many things at once. Maze watches as her hands gently rub her neck, and she sits down. She’s tense, much more than usual.

 

“I spent a lot of time wondering why. Wondering what is said about me, that she stopped loving me. Wondering If I did something wrong.,” she continues.

 

Natalie sits in her seat and sighs. She stares out into nothingness again, and Maze grunts and shuffles back into the office with her arms crossed.

 

“And did you?” she wonders, wanting this conversation to go faster.

 

She could just leave, not listen, and never give Natalie an inch to think she cared about her personal life, but … there was a slight inkling of intrigue there. And even as she frowns and holds her stance, annoyed, behind her eyes there is interest.

 

“I don’t know,” Natalie says.

 

“You didn’t ask?” Maze says as if the answer were simple.

 

Natalie scoffs, “No, I didn’t ask my ex why she chose to fuck someone else. That kind of revelation isn’t the best for the mental state of someone who just got cheated on.”

 

“But its been years now, right? Why don’t you ask.”

 

Natalie pauses, she hadn’t thought about that. She shakes her head, no.

 

“I don’t want to know. Life is much easier thinking that she was in the wrong,” Natalie says.

 

Maze squints and walks back into the office slowly

 

“Yeah, well, she is. I don’t care for monogamy myself, but when I tell someone I am going to do something, I do it. Action is easy for me, but words … words are hard. So, if I give you my word, I mean it.”

 

Natalie nods, “Agreed. Yet another thing you and I have in common, Ms. Smith.”

 

Maze nods and moves to sit in one of the seats in Natalie’s office.

 

“So who was it?” she asks, “who did she leave you for?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “Doesn’t matter,” she says.

 

Maze narrows her eyes and watches as Natalie suddenly becomes even more tense than she was before. She didn’t think it possible for a brick wall to be more impenetrable.

 

“Maggie?” Maze asks, the answer so apparent now.

 

That is why there had been so much tension the night before. It wasn’t just because of Liz, it was because of Liz _and_ Maggie.

 

Natalie pauses, her eyes staring forward. She doesn’t say anything.

 

“Are you serious?!” Maze says, annoyed anger in her tone.

 

“She cheated on you with Maggie, and you’re going to their _fucking_ wedding?”

 

Natalie stands and walks over to the door to pull it closed.

 

“Shh!” she says.

 

“That’s so fucking pathetic,” Maze says, an amused yet disgusted grin on her face.

 

To think she, at one point, thought this human was a demon.

 

“I don’t require your advice or judgment,” Natalie says, “I only told you that because we’re in a burn after reading situation.”

 

“Burn after reading?” Maze says.

 

“Yes, as in this conversation never happened. As in, we burn the pages of this particular chapter in our book after reading it, so no one else reads it.”

 

“Oh,” Maze says, nodding.

 

“So, you’re confiding in me?” Maze says, her eyebrows furrowing.

 

She hadn’t been trusted with many secrets. Lucifer was an open book, and everyone else already knew she was very … _forgoing_ with her information. She had no reason to hide or be secretive.

 

This, though, was a whole new thing. She was being told information that no one else had for the specific purpose of not sharing it.

 

A secret.

 

She liked the vote of confidence.

 

 _Fuck_ , she thinks.

 

Natalie might be her friend.

 

Maze shakes her head, “Okay, fine,” she says, “but really. Cheating? Why even be around her anymore, let alone go to her wedding? That seems like you are torturing yourself for nothing and trust me, I _know_ torture.”

 

“Yes, you keep saying that, “Natalie says, walking back to her desk, her hand half on her forehead.

 

“Look, you love your job,” Natalie says.

 

Maze nods, “I _like_ it a lot, sure,”

 

“and you would do anything to keep it, including sitting through a sixty-hour certification, right?”

 

Maze nods again, “Sure, what is your point?”

 

“I _loved_ Liz,” Natalie says, a small break in her character and voice, “I would have done _anything_ for her.”

 

Maze watches her, a shock as if she sees something she shouldn’t.

 

“You knew,” she says flatly.

 

Natalie scoffs,” Of course I knew. I’m not fucking stupid,” she says, sitting down.

 

 _Okay_ , Maze thinks, _this conversation shifted from sad to absolutely fucking pathetic._

 

“How long did you know?” Maze asks, intrigued.

 

Natale shrugs, “Does it matter?”

 

“It matters because I want to know how long you sat there watching the woman you swore monogamy to break that oath. I would have broken her legs.”

 

Maze pauses.

 

“You want me to break her legs?”

 

“What?” Natalie asks, “No! No, I don’t want you to break anybody’s legs. Why would you ask that?”

 

Maze shrugs, “Thought I’d offer.”

Natalie rolls her eyes.

 

“And I’m pathetic? What about you? You were so caught up in upholding the perception of yourself as this big tough bounty hunter, that you fought with me tooth and nail about your certification. Wasting my time no less!”

 

Maze shrugs, “So what? I’m certified, problem solved.”

 

“You’re not the only one with a reputation, Ms. Smith. Whether it is the perception of someone who cares about her job or perception of a happy couple … we are all the same. We all play a character.” she says.

 

Maze shakes her head, “I am not a character. I am Mazikeen of the-“

 

She pauses, realizing what she is about to say.

 

 “Smith,” she corrects.

 

“Mazikeen of the smith?” Natalie says, verifying she heard that correctly.

 

“The point is, I am who I am. Who I have always been,” Maze says, “I don’t pretend.”

 

“There are parallels between you and me,” Natalie says, “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that there was something pathetic about you as well.”

 

Maze shakes her head and stands. Now offended.

 

 “I was born and raised in the fires of hell. I watched my brothers and sisters devour each other for sustenance and survived long enough to become the protector and executioner of the Devil’s will. It is insulting for you to suggest there are many parallels between us. There is nothing _pathetic_ about me.”

 

Natalie smiles and sits down.

 

“Love is the great equalizer, Ms. Smith,” she says, sliding the certificate off her desk and placing it into her desk drawer.

 

She shuts the drawer and sits back in her chair.

 

“It makes fools out of us all.”

 

Maze squints her eyes as she stares at Natalie. They stare down one another, wondering who might falter first only to find that neither of them does.

 

Slowly a smile crawls onto Maze’s face.

 

“Okay,” she says, an impressed smile on her face.

 

“We done?” Natalie asks.

 

“Yeah, we’re done,” Maze confirms, turning to walk away.

 

“Good, I look forward to your first case review of the year,” she says, turning back to her work.

 

“I look forward to not doing it,” Maze says without turning around as she leaves the office.

 

Natalie smiles and chuckles before reaching up and rubbing her neck as the tension starts to return.

 

**\--**

Chloe and Lucifer walk back towards her desk, deep in conversation.

 

“We’re not going to get anything out of him. If we talk anymore, he’s going to clam up and ask for a lawyer.”

 

“I could just use my mojo on him again,” Lucifer says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “No, that won’t work a second time.”

 

“It always works, Darling. Well, you being the only exception,” he says with a smile.

 

She smiles back at him and shakes her head.

 

“Maybe he’s right. This woman is like an enigma. Even her partner doesn’t know who she is. How are we supposed to find her?”

 

“Mm,” Lucifer says as they turn the corner, her desk in visible sight, “he’s had to maintain communication with her at some point, correct? Perhaps we just find his phone records like you did with Frederick.”

 

She shakes her head, “That’s going to require a warrant, and he’s going to lawyer up … the trail will be cold and dry by the time we get those records. Plus, I have a feeling she isn’t dumb enough to have a phone with her name attached to it.”

 

Lucifer raises his eyebrows, an idea coming to him.

 

“He doesn’t know her name, but I’m sure he would know what she looks like. In fact, I’m sure anyone down at Wonderland would be able to pick her out of a lineup.

 

Chloe nods, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

“Actually,” she says, pausing in her tracks, “That’s not a bad idea.”

 

Lucifer seems pleased by that.

 

“If we go down to wonderland, take some notes on what this Carmen woman looks like, we could probably put together a sketch,” she says, mapping out a plan of action in her head.

 

“You’re welcome, Darling,” Lucifer says, “Now, shall we adjourn to the stairwell? I’d love to _prod_ you with some theories of my own.”

 

Chloe rolls her eyes and chuckles before they turn to see Maze leaving Natalie’s office.

 

“Hey,” Chloe says, approaching her desk and laying the file on it, “I thought you were suspended?”

 

“I was,” she says, walking past them.

 

Chloe looks into Natalie’s office and sees the brief smile on Natalie’s face. It was odd for anyone to leave a conversation with Maze and have a smile on their face.

 

“What was that all about?” Chloe asks.

 

Maze stops and crosses her arms, “Nothing,” she says, glancing back to Natalie, “just a burn after reading situation.”

 

A cold heat rolls over Chloe’s body.

 

“What?” she asks.

 

Maze scoffs, thinking she actually knows something that Chloe doesn’t.

 

“You know, when you make an oath to not say anything,” Maze says, turning around and walking to the desk of an officer by the steps.

 

She slaps the desk, and he jolts back and looks up.

 

“Bounty. _Now_ ,” she says.

 

He opens his mouth to say something when from Natalie’s office, he hears, “Just give her a lead, Pete.”

 

Chloe turns to see Natalie jotting something down on a paper, not even looking up.

 

Pete reaches down into a drawer and opens a file. He is about to hand her a sheet when she reaches out and grabs it before turning and leaving. He sighs and closes the folder.

 

Chloe turns back to Natalie’s office, synapses connecting in her brain.

 

“So, what now, Detective?” Lucifer asks, his eyebrows raised and a dark insinuation in his voice.

 

He leans in and whispers into her ears, “I brought my condoms.”

 

She doesn’t say anything, only gently pushes him away as she stares into Natalie’s office. It looks like there is deep confusion in her eyes, but it isn’t confusion. It’s her putting puzzle pieces together.

 

Small bits of information that she let slide and didn’t seem to be connected in any way. Now she could see them all clearly, and she wonders how long they had been there.

 

How long had Mistress Carmen been under her nose?

 

She doesn’t say anything, she’s just staring into Natalie’s office.

 

Perry’s description of his partner fits Natalie. Natalie was strong and authoritative, yet behind that laid a silent fragility. One that Chloe had witnessed for herself in the morgue. And even then, Natalie had known Fred. She had said he was a friend, but she cried over him like a mother cries over a child, or a sister cries over a sibling.

 

It explains the interest in the case from day one, even as Natalie hadn’t expressed interest in any other case. It explains her pushing for his body to be released, giving her the time to mourn him in private since she couldn’t do it in public. All the pieces were falling together, and Chloe just stares.

 

Ella had told Chloe in passing the Lieutenant had two phones, but the department doesn’t issue phones. It had to be personal. She no doubt believes it contains the number for Perry Morgan. She had asked herself why she would need two phones but added to the strange tenseness and now one key phrase …

 

Her eyes widen before she shuts them, mentally kicking herself for having missed it.

 

Yet another Lieutenant with a secret life. _Who is vetting them?_

 

“Perhaps you’d like to go back into the interrogation room and _interrogate_ me,” Lucifer coos, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.

 

She presses a hand on his chest then turns to him. She’s staring at him like she’s seen a ghost.

 

“What?” he says, recognizing that look.

 

“I think I know who our Mistress is.”

 

Lucifer smiles and puts his hands in his pockets, “ _Our_ Mistress? Darling, I thought it would take us much longer to get to BDSM levels of kink.”

 

She smacks his arm, and he chuckles.

 

“You’re not going to like this,” she says, turning to Natalie’s office.

 

“Well,” she says, correcting herself before he can say anything “ _you_ might, but I certainly don’t.”

 

She heads straight ahead with purpose into Natalie’s office.  Lucifer tilts his head curiously and follows her.

 

\--

 

Ezria crosses the threshold between the balcony and Lucifer’s penthouse, his wings slowly folding behind him.

 

“Brother?” he calls out, walking past the coffee table.

 

“Are you here?” he asks, peeking his head into the opening of Lucifer’s bedroom to find the sheets made and the bed empty.

 

 _Huh_ , he thinks. Didn’t Lucifer say he would be here to speak with Ezria?

 

He turns as Amenadiel lands onto the balcony himself, carrying a plastic tube that is draped around his body.

 

Amenadiel walks forward, sees Ezria, and pauses for a second before continuing onward.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

 

“You sound disappointed to see me,” Ezria says.

 

Amenadiel chuckles, “No, I just assumed you would have gone back to hell by now.”

 

Ezria shakes his head.

 

“As much as I am _excited_ about being stuck in that filthy place again,” he says in a tone that suggests he is _not_ enthusiastic about the prospect of going back to hell, “I came here to speak with Lucifer. Unfortunately, it seems he is not here.”

 

“He’s not?” Amenadiel says, setting the tube down on the table.

 

“Luci?” he calls out.

 

“I told you he isn’t here,” Ezria says, his eyebrows furrowed, “did you think I was lying?”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “Doesn’t hurt to check for myself.”

 

Ezria grunts, suddenly feeling like he is back in the silver city. Where his brothers and sisters took him for a joke.

 

His eyes catch the plastic tube that Amenadiel fiddles with before unsealing the end of it.

 

“What is that?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel turns to Ezria and smiles.

 

“Something exciting,” he says, pulling a dark brown and tattered scroll, covered in a plastic film, out from the tube.

 

Ezria approaches as Amenadiel sets the tube on the ground and unfurls the parchment paper onto an empty coffee table.

 

Ezria’s eyes widen, his curiosity turning into intrigue.

 

Before him is an old parchment paper covered in Sumerian, a language of the gods. Or rather, the last language in which God had ever directly spoken to anyone. Before their ears became too weak and their hearts too distant to hear him.

 

Ezria begins to read it, and his jaw drops.

 

“The Book of Samael,” he says, awe in his words.

 

“You ever wondered why Lucifer is _Lucifer_?” he asks, “what if this reveals it all? Why he fell from the stars, why he is on earth.”

 

“We know that already,” Ezria says, “were you not there when he dared to defy God?”

 

“Yes,” Amenadiel says, “but you know Father. Nothing happens that isn’t part of his will. In fact, finding this and reading it is probably part of his will too.”

 

Ezria shakes his head and turns back to the parchment paper. He grunts and turns away, annoyed at Lucifer’s absence. This is not what he came to earth for.

 

“Where’s your demon friend? The halfling?” Amenadiel says, carefully setting heavy objects on the edges of the scroll, so it doesn’t curl back up.

 

“Sleeping,” Ezria says, sitting on a stool by the bar.

 

“His first day on earth was rather eventful. I believe he is tired. Plus, this _is_ his first real slumber as a halfling. I imagine he has much sleep to catch up on.”

 

“Mmm,” Amenadiel replies, nodding.

 

He reads the scroll in silence as Ezria sits there, his mind suddenly on Calmos again.

 

He lets go of a deep sigh, one burdened by choices and uneasiness.

 

His eyes turn back to Amenadiel as Amenadiel reads.

 

Ezria grunts and pulls himself off the stool.

 

 _Fine_ , he thinks. He supposed reading with Amenadiel would be less confusing than trying to figure out this _thing_ with Calmos.

 

He walks over to the coffee table and sits on the chair nearby.

 

Amenadiel reads as Ezria sits there, watching him.

 

Amenadiel groans and sits back, frustrated.

 

“This is all just … stories!” he says.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Everything is proverbs and stories, but none of it is clear and concise,” Amenadiel says.

 

“Oh,” Ezria says, not really caring about the book.

 

It was just an old parchment paper that didn’t affect his life.

 

“I guess now I know it’s real,” Amenadiel says, moving to sit on the couch in a spot next to Ezria.

 

“Only father talks like that. In circles about nothing.”

 

Ezria chuckles, nodding in agreeance. Ezria’s laughter fades briefly as he realizes how much he misses it there, in the Silver City. Even with brothers and sisters who treat him like the red-headed stepchild, he misses it.

 

He misses sitting inside the observatory with Lucifer, watching the stars.

 

He misses flying high above the city where the souls of mortals carried out their afterlife. He misses doing quick flights around the opal spire where God stares up at the universe.

 

He sighs.

 

He wanted to go home.

 

Ezria nods, “He certainly has a way with words, doesn’t he?” he says, a slight tone of longing in his voice.

 

Amenadiel scoffs, and Ezria turns to him.

 

“Are you okay, Brother?” he asks, catching how Amenadiel is upset. Not just at the book, at Father.

 

“I’m fine,” Amenadiel says, shaking his head,” I just … I have a lot on my mind.”

 

“Mmm,” Ezria says, nodding, turning back towards the paper, “Yes, I know that feeling all too well.”

 

They sit in silence for a moment.

 

“I uhm … I spent all morning watching Calmos,” Ezria says.

 

Amenadiel nods.

 

“Wondering if it might be best he stay a crossroads demon and not my sentinel.”

 

“Makes sense,” Amenadiel says, “He’s a halfling. Demon halfling or no, he would certainly be a target.”

 

Ezria shakes his head, “I’m not concerned about what the others might do to him, brother. I have plans that will change the way Hell runs. I’ve come to speak to Lucifer about that. Even without that, Calmos is more than capable.”

 

Amenadiel shrugs, “So what’s the problem?”

 

“I’m concerned about … what I might do.”

 

Amenadiel turns to Ezria, his eyebrows raised.

 

“What you might do?” he asks.

 

Ezria nods, fiddling with his hands.

 

“I …I don’t know,” he says, shrugging, “I just …I feel _something,_ and I don’t know if I should.”

 

Amenadiel narrows his eyes, then smiles widely and chuckles to himself. Ezria turns to him, off-put by his chuckle.

 

“I forgot you and Lucifer were two sides of the same coin,” he says with a smile.

 

“What does that mean?” Ezria asks.

 

Amenadiel groans and sits up, leaning forward on his knees.

 

“When Lucifer first met Chloe, he was _adamant_ he didn’t feel anything for her. But he was spending all his time with her, forgoing his usual activities, and he even started doing things he wouldn’t do… _for anyone_. Now, look at them.”

 

Ezria nods, listening.

 

“So you think … you think I could have that?” he asks.

 

“You’re in love, brother. Or … at least infatuated.”

 

Ezria furrows his brow. _Infatuation?_

 

Amenadiel nods and slaps Ezria’s legs before standing up.

 

“You should tell him how you feel,” Amenadiel says, “otherwise, you’ll be circling the spire for centuries. Father knows I’ve had to deal with enough of that.”

 

Ezria shakes his head, “I’m not sure if I should. He’s … well, he’s ..”

 

“A demon?” Amenadiel asks, “Half-ling?”

 

“Male,” Ezria says.

 

Amenadiel pauses then inhales sharply before nodding.

 

“Right,” he says, “I forgot you … you don’t get out much.”

 

Ezria looks at him as if none of what he just said made sense.

 

“You feel the way you do,” Amenadiel asks, “It _could_ be love or at the very least infatuation or lust but … it is real. You should say something. Don’t be like your idiot brother and wait to figure it out. Waiting only makes it worst.”

 

Amenadiel says that, and it strikes a chord with him. He sighs and nods. Waiting to speak with Father only made it worst.

 

He had a spun a tale in his head about what Father’s intentions were, and the longer he thought about it, the more sinister Father became. That was unfair. It was unfair to attribute a personality to him without even speaking with him to get his side. Without even allowing him the opportunity to tell the truth, the _whole_ truth.

 

“I don’t know,” Ezria says, “what if he doesn’t …what if he doesn’t want to?”

 

Amenadiel smiles, “What if he does?”

 

Ezria’s concern falls in his eyes, the realization that Amenadiel is right.

 

He wasn’t angel after all. There was no way Calmos would say no. It was silly to think otherwise. A halfling saying no to an Angel?

 

Ezria scoffs, amused at himself for worrying.

 

“You should ask Lucifer about the whole …you know, male thing,” Amenadiel says, walking to the balcony, “He’s laid with enough men to share that particular perspective.”

 

“I see,” Ezria says, thinking about all Amenadiel has said.

 

His eyes look up as Amenadiel spreads his wings.

 

“Wait, where are you going?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel turns around.

 

“I have to speak with Father,” he says, “and you have to speak with Calmos.”

 

Amenadiel turns back around.

 

“Oh!” Ezria says, standing.

 

“Wait! Lucifer gave me a bottle last night. It was a clear, sticky substance. What is that for?”

 

Amenadiel looks at him and smiles, amused.

 

“I asked him, but he too was very cryptic about the answer,” Ezria says.

 

Amenadiel looks up to the sky and chuckles before turning around and lowering his wings. Father would have to wait.

 

 He walks down the steps, approaches Ezria, and places a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Brother,” he says, “perhaps you should have a seat.”

 

 

**\--**

Chloe enters Natalie’s office, and Natalie looks up briefly from her paperwork.

 

“What can I do for you, Detective?” she says, turning back to her paperwork.

 

Lucifer enters, and Chloe shuts the door behind him. She pauses, second-guessing herself.

 

The idea was preposterous, right? The Lieutenant had to have been vetted.

 

Though Cain and Abel probably weren’t. Or were they?

 

She shakes her head, getting her thinking back on track.

 

“Detective Decker?” Natalie asks, leaning back from her desk, “I appreciate an office visit, but unless it’s important, I really need to finish these reports.”

 

Lucifer moves to sit in the chair, unsure of what is going on but sure it will take a moment.

 

Chloe walks to Natalie’s desk, her hands fiddling with themselves.

 

“I … want to preface this by saying this sounds crazy, and I realize that,” she says, approaching the desk.

 

Lucifer straightens his jacket before crossing his legs and getting comfortable.

 

Natalie, intrigued by how strange Chloe is acting, leans back fully in her chair, sliding her fingers between each other and resting her hand in her lap.

 

“Before I begin I wanted to say that I in no way take this as a slight against your professionalism or –“

 

“Out with it,” Natalie says, annoyed by all this precursor.

 

“Yes, Detective. I have to agree,” Lucifer says, his eyebrows furrowed, “Your nervousness is making me uncomfortable.”

 

Chloe sighs.

 

“Okay, here it is. I’m just going to say it,” she says.

 

She pauses, gathering herself before turning to Natalie.

 

“Where were you last Friday?” she asks.

 

Natalie furrows her eyebrows and stares at Chloe. She stares for far too long before a low, authoritative voice comes from her.

 

“Why is that important, Detective?”

 

Chloe approaches Natalie’s desk.

 

“Because I have reason to believe that you might the main suspect in our murder investigation,” she says before pausing.

 

“For the murder of Frederick Miles,” Chloe says.

 

Natalie scoffs, disgusted.

 

“How _dare_ you,” she says, shaking her head.

 

“How dare you suggest that I would have anything to do with Fred’s death. Fred was my friend. He was like-”

 

“Family?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie visibly stutters for a second before catching herself. She nods, a small smile coming to her face as if wondering why she is even entertaining this idea. She scoffs.

 

“Unless you have some evidence to back up your claim, this line of questioning is entirely _un_ professional and borders on insubordination. It would be my recommendation that you tread very carefully, Detective.” Natalie says, sitting back in her chair.

 

Lucifer looks at Chloe. He is left in the dark about what is happening

Chloe stands there for a second, second-guessing herself.

 

“Darling?” he asks, a confused tone to his voice.

 

She stands there, unsure of how to continue. Had she read the signs correctly?

 

Everything all made sense, but … had she missed something?

 

She briefly runs back over the dots in her head, all the lines that pointed to the Lieutenant.

She shakes her head, no … no, she was right. It made sense, it had to.

 

“I wish I could,” Chloe says, crossing her arms, “but I have evidence that suggests you are Mistress Carmen.”

 

What follows is a sharp silence and an odd reservation in Natalie that makes Chloe question her thought process again.

 

Natalie was calm and composed and not at all how someone who just had a secret discovered should be.

 

On the outside, Natalie looks reserved, but inside her head, alarms are ringing. They are telling her to stay calm as adrenaline makes her heart speed up and her legs shake beneath the table.

 

“I see,” she lets out slowly, “Well if you are certain, I’d love to hear this _evidence_ that has you interrupting my work.”

 

“Please, continue,” Natalie says, reaching her hand out to offer a seat to Chloe.

 

Lucifer watches Natalie, a curious look in his eye, as he tries to read her. Chloe was always right, or at least most of the time, she was. He had no reason to believe she was wrong, but … the Lieutenant seemed far too dull to be a dominatrix.

 

Liars denied and sent off nervous energy. Natalie was calm and inviting. He turns to Chloe as she sits, and they lock eyes. Behind them is a slight uncertainty, but he knows she feels she is right. She was always right.

 

“I uhm …,” Chloe says sitting down, “ I know your privacy is important to you -“

 

“Detective,” Natalie says, linking her hands in her lap again, “Let’s be clear that I am only entertaining this theory so that you can go back to finding the _true_ killer of Mr. Miles. In no way am I verifying your theory to be true, but if this little circus act is what I need to go through to make it clear that this department runs on _solid_ theories and not wild conjectures, then so be it.”

 

Chloe nods, her eyes narrowed.

 

“It isn’t a wild conjecture, Lieutenant,” Chloe says, offended by the implication, “You can ask Ella. From day one I was-“

 

“Your _evidence_ , Detective,” Natalie says, her voice stern.

 

Chloe pauses, and they lock eyes. She nods.

 

“Well, to begin from day one, you were oddly focused on my investigation,” Chloe says.

 

“You had just come off a botched case where paramedics had been incorrectly called, and your partner – who has a history of his own mind you – had been missing without communication for two days. Now, let me be clear. I do take fault in this being the case I shadow because of my connection to the victim, but I assure you my interest, in this case, has only to do with my duties as a Lieutenant,” Natalie says.

 

“Okay, but in Mr. Morgan’s interview, he stated that he and Mistress Carmen viewed their clients like family.”

 

“Your point being, Detective?” Natalie asks, her patience for this wearing thin.

 

“Maze is my roommate,” she says, “she told me last night that you … you were in foster care.”

 

Natalie narrows her eyes.

 

“You don’t have a connection with blood relatives,” Chloe continues, “and so you don’t have a family to speak of, just the ones that you create for yourself.”

 

“Detective Decker,” she says, calm anger behind her words, “I believe you should _stop_ your prying into my personal life now. The particularities of my upbringing are none of your-“

 

“ _Then_ there is the fact that both Maze and Mr. Morgan used the same phrase, ‘burn after reading.’ A phrase Maze heard from you and a phrase that Mr. Morgan no doubt heard from Mistress Carmen.

 

“It’s a well-known phrase, Detective,” Natalie says.

 

“and a horrid movie, starring Brad Pitt,” Lucifer says, trying to get a word in, “not his best work.”

 

Chloe turns to him.

 

Chloe shakes her head and turns back to Natalie.

 

“Well-known, maybe but still uncommon,” Chloe says, “I haven’t heard that phrase used except for two places. In the interview with Mr. Morgan and just now with Maze.”

 

“By that logic, why is your suggestion not that Ms. Smith is this … _mystery_ woman, you are looking for?” Natalie asks.

 

“Because I know Maze. If she were a dominatrix, she would be proud of that. In fact, I would be the first person to know because she lives with me.”

 

Chloe pauses, “Granted, I did have to speak with her about hiding her whips and ball gags when she moved in,” she says.

 

Natalie narrows her eyes.

 

“She doesn’t hide who she is,” Chloe says, “and Mistress Carmen seems hell-bent on hiding.”

 

Natalie scoffs, amused, “and so your suggestion then becomes that I hide who I am?”

 

“Yes,” Chloe says, a matter of factly.

 

“You were … distraught. You were vulnerable and mourning the loss of someone who I have no doubts you were close to. But you saw me, and you changed,” Chloe says.

 

“I don’t know anyone who enjoys breaking down in front of others Detective,” Natalie says.

 

“Maybe, but don’t you find it odd that someone so distraught over a death one second, could also be the same person who hid the fact that they knew the victim in the first place?”

 

Natalie scoffs, a nervous smile on her face. She shakes her head, “Are we done here? I think I’ve entertained your questions enough. So, can I get back to work? Or do you have a theory for me on how Aliens built the pyramids?”

 

“They didn’t,” Lucifer says.

 

Chloe and Natalie turn to him.

 

“The pyramids were all slave labor. It’s quite remarkable what can be built on the back of human suffering.”

 

Chloe narrows her eyes, looking at him as if to say this was probably not the best time.

 

“Right,” Natalie says.

 

Chloe sighs and shakes her head, rolling her eyes.

 

She knew in her heart of hearts she was right, her gut instinct had been yelling at her the entire time. But the Lieutenant was also correct. Everything Chloe had said was only just a theory. There was no hard evidence. And the evidence she did have was circumstantial at best. She needed _something_ more concrete.

 

She shakes her head, looking away and staring into the bullpen at officers who are busy scurrying around and answering phones.

 

She pauses.

 

_Phones_

Chloe turns back to Natalie, and her eyes narrow. She wouldn’t be able to get a search warrant on Mr. Morgan without him lawyering up. But, she _could_ bluff.

 

“Ella told me that you have two phones,” Chloe says, “Why?”

 

“I don’t believe that is any of your concern,” Natalie says.

 

“Unless one of them is for you, and one of them is for Mistress Carmen.”

 

Natalie scoffs and shakes her head, “Detective, I believe I’ve given you enough time to get your theory out, and quite frankly, I’m out of patience with this particular exercise. If you don’t have any _actual_ evidence, I think it best we get back to work.”

 

Chloe nods and reaches into her pocket to pull out her notepad. She holds it in one hand before pulling out her phone in the other.

 

“What are you doing?” Natalie says, her patience wearing thin.

 

Chloe shrugs.

 

“We pulled a number from Mr. Morgan’s phone. If you aren’t mistress Carmen, you wouldn’t mind if I called it, would you?”

 

Chloe and Natalie stare each other down, both deciding how much farther this needs to go.

 

Had Chloe missed something? Was she incorrect about her deduction?

 

Natalie stares at her, unsure of whether or not she is lying. Had Elliot sold her up the river?

 

Who is bluffing and who is not?

 

Lucifer sits, watching them both like two tigers locked into a battle. His eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head. If this were anytime before he had pledged himself to Chloe, this would be an excellent precursor to a threesome.

 

“Fascinating,” he whispers.

 

Natalie scoffs, “Fine,” she says, shrugging her shoulders, “Go ahead.”

 

“it will only take a second,” Chloe says, dialing a number.

 

Natalie nods, maintaining her calm exterior, while a host of butterflies fly like static in her stomach.

 

Chloe dials Linda’s number. It’s the middle of the day, and no doubt she in sessions and wouldn’t answer. She presses the call button before putting it on speakerphone. It rings audibly.

 

Natalie nods to herself, trying to stay calm.

 

It rings again.

 

Briefly, Natalie’s mind goes to her phone, the one in her purse. It was always on silent, but on the rare occasion, she left it on vibrate. She briefly wonders if she left it on vibrate, and almost as a reflex, her eyes drop down to her purse as she tries to see if it is vibrating.

 

The phone rings again.

 

Chloe notices the small glance before Natalie turns back to her, and at the same time, they both realize what Natalie just did.

 

They stare at each other as if both unsure what to do with this information.

 

The phone rings again before it clicks and goes to voicemail.

 

“You’ve reached,” a robotic voice says.

 

“Doctor Linda Martin,” a female voice says.

 

“At the sound of the beep, please leave a message, the robotic voice says again.

 

Chloe clicks the phone off and shoves it into her pocket as Natalie and her look at one another.

 

Natalie chuckles and nods, “A bluff?” she asks, impressed.

 

“Mr. Morgan wouldn’t talk,” Chloe says, “but I’m right, aren’t I?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “I have no idea what you are talking about. If I am under arrest, just arrest me. Otherwise, I think we are done here.”

 

Chloe narrows her eyes. She knows the Lieutenant is Mistress Carmen, and the Lieutenant knows that Chloe knows. They are locked in a battle where neither has what they need.

 

Well, _almost_ no one.

 

Chloe turns to Lucifer and clears her throat. He looks up at her as she tilts her head in Natalie’s direction.

 

“Oh,” he says, sitting forward, “Yes. Very well. It seems It’s finally my turn. Now that you’ve had your fun allow me.”

 

He slides forward in his chair, locking eyes with Natalie.

 

“Lieutenant Edwards,” Lucifer says smoothly as if he were about to seduce her.

 

“What?” she asks, unamused, not taking kindly to his seduction.

 

“What is it you desire? Hmm?”

 

“Excuse me?” she asks as her eyebrows furrowed.

 

“What is it you desire? Perhaps to kill under the radar?”

 

“What?!” she says, a tone that suggests she finds his words to be ridiculous

 

“Maybe poor old Frederick got a little too close to comfort?”

 

“No,” she says, her eyebrows furrowed. Slowly, the more she stares into Lucifer’s eyes, the annoyed and angry look on her face dissipates into a soft, blank expression.

 

“Perhaps you wanted to punish those who you can’t punish through legal routes? Hmm? I would certainly understand that.”

 

Chloe reaches out and taps him on the leg, but he doesn’t turn away. He continues to stare deep into Natalie, seeing the walls drop around her.

 

“No,” she says again, this time softer as the tension in her body fades, and she stares at him.

 

“Then what is it?” he asks, leaning forward.

 

Chloe watches as she notices the air around Natalie change. It reminds her of what she saw in the morgue. She looks like a real person. That is to say, not an act or a façade.

 

The Lieutenant, with her shields down, was … delicate and _vulnerable_. It didn’t feel like Chloe should see this, but she can’t look away. She thinks she sees what Mr. Morgan saw. He wanted to badly to protect Mistress, and she knows why. Beneath that shell is a strange innocence. She was a woman in every sense of the word, but she was hurt or actively hurting. She was a bright, white swan floating in a toxic green lake.

 

“I …,” Natalie says, staring into Lucifer’s eyes.

 

“Yes?” he asks, his voice low, warm and reassuring.

 

“I … I want to be loved,” she says.

 

Lucifer pauses, his eyebrows furrowed. That is not what he expected. He turns to Chloe and sees a similar look on their face. Both are entirely confused

 

“Oh,” he says, leaning back and sitting back in his seat, and turning back to Natalie, “Well, that was not the answer I expected.”

 

“I …,” she says, the fog still over her eyes as she continues to stare into Lucifer’s eyes.

 

“I want to be happy,” she says again.

 

“What?” Chloe asks.

 

Lucifer continues to look at her, disappointed she didn’t say something like … to kill them all. That would have been good. Then he and Chloe could finish this case, go back to his penthouse, and he could fuck her until she lost the use of her legs.

 

A smile on Lucifer’s face falls, and he stares deeper into Natalie. The answer he got was not the answer he wanted. But the answer he wanted was there, right beneath the surface. He just needed to pry a bit more.

 

“I want it to stop,” she continues to say.

 

Chloe’s eyes raise. She’s starting to hear things she has no doubt she shouldn’t be hearing.

 

“She’s stuck,” Chloe says, turning the lucifer.

 

“Stop looking at her!”

 

“I can’t,” he says, his eyebrows furrowed, “It’s strange. I can’t look away. It’s … the answer is right there.”

 

Chloe leans forward, placing her hand on the table.

 

“Lieutenant look at me,” she says.

 

The Lieutenant continues to stares at Lucifer.

 

“Why didn’t she love me?” Natalie says, tears starting to fall from her eyes.

 

“Lieutenant!” Chloe says, waving her hand in front of Natalie’s face.

 

Lucifer continues to stare at her, unable to look away.

 

“Detective,” he says, “I can’t look away. It doesn’t … it doesn’t make any sense.”

 

“For fuck's sake,” Chloe says, walking around the desk.

 

Chloe reaches out to Natalie’s chair, ready to spin her, prepared to break her eye contact with Lucifer.

 

“I became Mistress for her,” Natalie says.

 

Chloe pauses.

 

“ _Hello_ ,” Lucifer says, sitting forward, pleased with that he is finding, “There it is. There is the answer I was looking for.”

 

 

Lucifer turns his eyes to Chloe suddenly.

 

“I believe we have our suspect,” he says before looking back at Natalie.

 

She slides a bit, the walls coming back up from his lack of eye contact, but then falls back into staring at him. It was odd, there was something … comforting about his gaze. The lack of judgment, the desire to know, to care.

 

“You became a dominatrix, why?” he asks, “What did you desire?”

 

“I … I wanted her to stay.”

 

Lucifer scoffs.

 

“What did you want with Poor Frederick?” Lucifer says, digging further.

 

“Lucifer,” Chloe warns.

 

“What?” Natalie asks, a soft confusion falling over her face.

 

As if she were learning that the comfort he offered weren’t real.

 

“Why did you kill him?” Lucifer asks again, the red in his eyes lighting up.

 

“I … “

 

“Why did you do it?!” Lucifer asks again, this time harsher.

 

“Lucifer!” Chloe says.

 

“I didn’t kill him,” Natalie says, her eyebrows furrowed, “Fred was family. I would have never hurt him!  Everything we did was consensual and never from anger.”

 

Lucifer scoffs and sits back, upset. Chloe walks around the desk.

 

“What is wrong with you?” Chloe asks Lucifer, unhappy with him pushing.

 

“I was trying to get an answer out of our suspect,” he says.

 

“She’s not a suspect!” Chloe says.

 

Lucifer shakes his head confused, “You said-“

 

“I said that to get her to talk! I know she didn’t do it. I told you, Mr. Morgan said that they were at wonderland until ten. We just needed her to confirm his alibi.”

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

“and now that she has, we can strike him and _her_ from the list.”

 

“Oh,” Lucifer says again, turning to Natalie.

 

Natalie looks exceptionally confused as the walls slide up one by one.

 

She blinks a few times, confused as Chloe turns back to the desk.

 

“What was that?” she asks, unable to understand why she had just said all that.

 

“I’m sorry Lieutenant, we didn’t mean-“

 

“Did you just hypnotize me?” she asks, turning to Lucifer, her eyebrows furrowed and her characteristic strictness coming out.

 

“You just had a few layers to get through, didn’t you, Darling?” Lucifer says, fixing the lapel on his jacket and congratulating himself.

 

“I … you,” Natalie begins to say, a rage building in her.

 

Chloe raises her hands, hoping to stop whatever outburst is about to happen.

 

“We just have a few more questions, and we’ll be out of your hair,” Chloe says.

 

“You need to get _out_ of my _fucking_ office,” she yells at Lucifer.

 

Chloe turns to Lucifer, “wait outside for me?” she says.

 

“Detective,” he begins to say.

 

“Just, _please_ wait outside?” she asks him.

 

He sighs and nods before standing and exiting. He shuts the door behind him, and Chloe turns to Natalie. If looks could kill, Chloe would be deceased, ten times over.

 

“I-“

 

“Don’t,” Natalie says, turning around, her hands on her hips, “I don’t need your fucking pity,”

 

“I was going to say I had nothing,” Chloe says.

 

Natalie turns to her.

 

“Your poker face is … exceptional. I was going to pull a hail Mary and pretend I had something more solid and if that didn’t work …”

 

Chloe shakes her head.

 

“Well, if that didn’t work, I probably would have expected a bad review, or … the very least, it would have been awkward as hell working for you.”

 

Natalie narrows her eyes and looks over Chloe.

 

“You don’t need to flatter me, Detective. Just ask your questions and get out of my office,” she says, moving to her seat and angrily sitting down before crossing her arms.

 

“Well, I mean … I have so many, but none of them are related to the case.”

 

Natalie stares at Chloe, and Chloe nods her head.

 

“Right, uhm … Mr. Morga-“

 

“Elliot,” she says, trying hard to keep the veil over her eyes.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “Yeah, see, _that_. Why do you do that? He wouldn’t’ tell me anything useful about you.”

 

“Precisely. I believe you’ve found the point, Detective. He doesn’t know anything about me, I don’t know anything about him. Privacy is, above all, the most important.”

 

“And what would happen if someone broke that privacy?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie rolls her eyes, “I didn’t kill Fred, Detective.”

 

“Right, but you knew his name?”

 

Natalids nods.

 

“Who else knew his name?” Chloe says.

 

Natalie pauses, a sudden realization that Chloe might be onto something. The defense in her posture falls, and she turns her eyes to the ceiling, thinking.

 

She shakes her head, “No one. Elliot and I are careful about names. Again, privacy is important.

 

“But you _knew_ his name.”

 

Natale shrugs, annoyed, “Yeah, Fred had been my client for almost four years. As much as we try and keep the veil up, sometimes it slips, and you get a peek into another person’s life. Like, I knew his name was Fred. He had a kid. That kid died, and he … on some level, felt responsible for that. I have another client who is a furry and frequents furry conventions. I have yet another client who is the head of her PTA. You know, some things slide when you get into that room, and people …they want to feel powerless. Information is power, so sometimes we learn move than we should. But we definitely don’t mention them. We keep our mouths shut.”

 

“Is that why you are so angry?” Chloe asks, “because we figured… well _I_ , figured it out.”

 

Natalie scoffs, “I’m not angry at your discovery, Detective. You’re smart. Quite frankly, I’m surprised it took you so long. It seems I’ve been _leaking_ personal information everywhere. It was only a matter of time until someone figured it out. Living a double life is … exhausting.”

 

“So you’re angry because you’ve been … leaking?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie scoffs, her anger now directed mostly at herself. She shakes her head.

 

“I was never like this,” she says, “before Liz, I was …whole. I was just fine.”

 

Natalie’s eyes start to drift as she goes further into her mind.

 

“She made me take those parts of me that she didn’t want and … compartmentalize them. And I was the _idiot_ that did. So Mistress was born. I’d be lying If I said I didn’t enjoy her, she's been both the worst and the best thing that has ever happened to me. I’ve managed to connect with so many people that truly understand me, and I can help them. I can help them in ways I can’t help people here.”

 

“But you’re leaking,” Chloe says.

 

Natalie scoffs again, “Yeah. Too much.”

 

“What about Fred? Was he the same way?” Chloe says.

 

Natalie nods.

 

“He rarely spoke. He took his pain like a good boy. Every once in a while, he would let something slip. Sometimes he would whisper it to himself like a prayer, but …I always heard it. Sometimes I wondered if he did it on purpose, to _make_ me hear him.”

 

“What did he say?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie shrugs, “All sorts of things. Missing his son, leaving his wife, how he deserved the punishment.”

 

“Did he say anything else?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie shakes her head before she pauses and her eyebrows furrow.

 

“What?” Chloe says, seeing the demeanor in her change.

 

“He didn’t say anything, but I do remember our last session, he seemed angry.”

 

“When was your last session?” Chloe asks.

 

“Last Saturday,” she says.

 

Chloe nods, jotting down notes that don’t have Natalie’s name on them.

 

“Any idea about why he was angry?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “He wouldn’t say. I tried to clean his attitude, but … he was off the entire time.”

 

“Mmm,” Chloe says, nodding, “So is that why you were upset at him when you left the voicemail?”

 

Natalie inhales deeply and exhales, surrendering herself to the fact that her secret is out. Or at the least, reminding herself that her secret is out.

 

“No,” she says, “I was upset because he didn’t show up. It takes a lot of money to rent the rooms at  Wonderland. They are sold by the hour so, when a client is a no show, I’m paying for a room I can’t use.”

 

“I see, and when did you leave Wonderland?”

 

Natalie shrugs, “I don’t know. Ten?”

 

“And where did you go after?”

 

“I came back here,” Natalie says, “Thought I’d get a head start on paperwork. Ms. Lopez can vouch for me.”

 

Chloe nods, her eyes drifting off.

 

Her only suspects were now the wife and the boss. Neither one of them had any real motive. Though, the wife did serve Fred divorce papers that he wouldn’t sign.

 

“Did you ever hear anything about his wife?” Chloe asks.

 

Natalie just stares at her, like that is a dumb question.

 

“Right,” Chloe says, nodding, looking back at her notes, “Sorry I asked.”

 

“I want to be clear,” Natalie says.

 

Chloe turns to her.

 

“I never have sex with any of my clients. It isn’t a sexual thing.”

 

Chloe nods, “I am aware,” she says.

 

“I’m not a prostitute,” she says.

 

“I would hope not. Lieutenant of a major crimes department sells her body on the side?”

 

Chloe pauses.

 

“Oh,” she says.

 

Natalie nods, Chloe suddenly getting it.

 

“That’s why privacy is important. You don’t want anyone here finding out.”

 

“I’m aware of my optics, Detective. I’ve worked too hard, and I’ve given up too much to not be aware of how people perceive me. But, I’m also aware of how it would look if my activities were discovered. Which begs the question, what now?”

 

Chloe shakes her head, “I don’t know.”

 

Natalie nods, “Yes. I’m afraid my answer is the same.”

 

They sit there for a moment, a thick silence between them, Chloe very aware that she has the power in this situation.

 

Chloe turns, locking eyes with Lucifer, who sits at her desk watching.

 

“He’s really not that bad of a guy,” she says, turning to Natalie, “Frustrating, yes … but he’s not bad.”

 

“I have a stack of reports about him that say otherwise,” Natalie says.

 

Chloe nods, “I wish I could explain him to you, but … you’re just going to have to take my word on it.”

 

“I don’t trust anyone, Detective. Don’t take that as a slight against you. I’m sure you know him much better than I do, but he is no longer allowed to speak to me.”

 

Chloe smiles, “I could just tell him to not use his … _thing_ on you.”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “Not good enough. I don’t like being …. Hypnotized, or whatever he did.”

 

Chloe nods.

 

Chloe stands and slides the small notebook into her back pocket.

 

“Okay, well … don’t leave the country, yeah?” she says with a smile.

 

Natalie scoffs and watches as Chloe leaves. Chloe pauses at the door, before turning around with a small smile on her face.

 

“Oh, and … since we are sharing secrets-“

 

“We’re not,” Natalie says, quickly stopping her from saying anything.

 

“Lucifer and I are dating,” Chloe says, “and …we have sex. Like, I mean, last night was the first time, but I imagine there will be many, _many_ more times.”

 

Natalie sits there, staring at her, her eyes narrowing.

 

She tilts her head.

 

“Do you know why I haven’t fired Mr. Morningstar yet?” she asks.

 

Chloe shakes her head.

 

“Because I ran the numbers. He causes a lot of problems, but since he became a consultant, this department has closed enough cases to reinvigorate the community’s trust in the LAPD. Now, I don’t have to tell you how important that is. The more the community trusts us, the more likely they are to come to us with tips and information that help put more criminals - not just murderers- behind bars. That alone makes our community even that much safer.”

 

Natalie scoots up in her chair, reaching for a pen and ready to get back to work.

 

“Now, I’m not a fan of Mr. Morningstar, but I can’t argue with numbers. As long as you two are closing cases and not making too much of a headache for me, then I don’t care what you do with your genitals. Just don’t make it a work thing.”

 

Chloe nods, “Okay,” she says happily.

 

Natalie looks back up at her, “Are we done?”

 

Chloe nods, “All good, Lieutenant.”

 

Chloe swings the door open and leaves, the door shuts behind her, and Natalie turns to stare at her paper.

 

She thought that having the Mistress revealed would be more … destructive. But a part of her feels relieved. Living a double life was stressful and exhausting. She loved what she did, she worked hard to get here.

 

She looks back up to the precinct, and her eyes turn to officers milling about, trying to handle the extra load of work. Meanwhile, Lucifer and Chloe sit at her desk, exchanging glances that seem more than friendly.

_Maybe it was time?_ She thinks, _that Natalie and Mistress had a talk._

**\--**

It is dark outside now, and it looks like the sun has long fallen over the horizon. The inside of Lucifer’s penthouse empty but lit up as if someone had forgotten to turn off the lights.

The elevator to Lucifer’s penthouse opens to Chloe, and Lucifer locked deeply into a passionate kiss.

 

He wraps his arms around her and walks out of the elevator before pushing her up against the edge of the bar. Their tongues dance over each other, and her hands crawl all over the back of his torso. Their lips separate only momentarily, just long enough for him to pull his jacket off and toss it to the side before he reaches up and lifts Chloe onto the edge of the bar.

 

“I’ve wanted to fuck you all day,” he says before leaning in and kissing her again.

 

She giggles beneath his kisses and wraps her legs around his torso.

 

He kisses move down from her lips to the side of her neck, his favorite spot. She lets go of a soft moan as he licks and nibbles at the side of her neck before moving to the front of her neck. Here he licks her throat as if getting it ready for what is about to happen to it.

 

“I gave actual thought to your stairway idea,” she says.

 

“Mmm,” he hums as he reaches up and slides her shirt off.

 

She raises her hands to let him slide it off of her body. He tosses her shirt aside and reaches back to unhook her bra.

 

“You just looked so good in your suit,” she says.

 

He chuckles warmly, “I thought you might enjoy it,” he says.

 

She nods and smiles before he leans in and kisses her again, sliding her bra off of her body.

 

He stands back and looks at her bare chest for a moment.

 

“I think I prefer you out of them, though,” she says.

 

They lock eyes, and he hums with a deep, bassy amusement. He leans in and wraps his arms around her before picking her up and carrying her over to the couch.

 

Here he lays between her legs, and they go back to kissing. She slides her hands between them and rubs him through his pants. She can tell he is already getting excited.

 

She smiles into his kiss.

 

“Happy to see me?” she says.

 

He chuckles and leans back, “Darling, you are playing with fire.”

 

She bites her lip, and he peels away from her entirely as he slips his feet out of his shoes while unbuckling his belt.

 

“I am going to fuck you all night,” he says.

 

Chloe’s smile falls.

 

“I can’t stay the night, you know this.”

 

He frowns, “You told me you couldn’t sleep over, but we will decidedly _not_ be sleeping.”

 

“Lucifer,” Chloe groans, “I have to stay with Trixie tonight.”

 

“Detective,” he says, upset, “I was hoping we could spend all night squeezing those delightful noises from you. You don’t have to be quiet here. In fact, I prefer that you are as vocal as you like.”

 

“You have forty-five minutes,” she says sternly.

 

Lucifer grunts in disapproval.

 

“Fine,” he says, going back to undoing his belt, “I’m not opposed to quick and dirty, but the moment you have a free night, I hope you know that you will be here… with me … taking our time.”

 

Chloe smiles, “I believe you,” she says.

 

“Good,” he says, sliding his pants off before taking his position back on the couch between her legs, “Now tell me how you want me.”

 

**\--**

It’s late in the precinct. The bullpen lights are off, save for a few lights on desk lamps of Detectives burning the midnight oil. The lights in Lieutenant Natalie Edwards’s office are at full blaze, however, as she sits at an oddly clean desk typing an email on her laptop.

 

Natalie pauses and looks up from her letter to survey the office. She had only been here for a month, but in that month, some real headway had been made. The efforts of her hard work had paid off, but they wouldn’t care. Numbers wouldn’t be enough when they discovered their Lieutenant was a dominatrix on the side.

 

Or perhaps there was no side anymore. It had been made clear to Natalie she couldn’t continue as two separate people anymore. Before Liz, she had been whole. There was no Mistress, only Natalie. Only her interests and her being. Only the distinct feeling of being okay with herself, with being okay with her … tendencies.

 

Then, because of Liz, because Liz couldn’t handle all of her, she had become Mistress. She had taken that part of her and turned it into something to be done and not an experience to be lived. She had spent so much time digging her heels into work and trying to be someone Liz could bring in public.

 

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe that is why Liz felt the need to find love somewhere else. Natalie had lost herself in a relationship. She shakes her head, annoyed at her own behavior. She had become one of _those_ women.

 

Natalie looks up from her letter to the station. Despite all that, though, she enjoyed being here. She enjoyed feeling like she could do something – anything – to make the world less hectic; to help.

 

Mistress was great at what she did, but her antics were just for play. If all work and no play made Natalie crazy, perhaps all play and no work would make Mistress crazier. It was a balancing act, but she had been unbalanced for a long time. She had only gone a few days without Mistress, and already she was itching, practically jumping out of her skin for a chance to play.

 

She sighs and tries to go back to her letter. She gets lost in thought again.

 

Either way, her two lives had split her apart. She had become shadows of both Mistress and Natalie.

 

That had become apparent.

 

She was doing the one thing she had never done, spilling her emotions around. Leaving them to be found like breadcrumbs and openly telling people about her problems. Fraternization was a problem in the precinct, and she had inadvertently only compounded the issue.

 

Mistress would _never_ have been so sloppy as to have left a voicemail on a dead man’s phone. No, that was all Natalie. Boring old Natalie.

 

And because of that, she was here, writing this letter, forcing herself to make a choice.

 

She loved her job, more than anything – well, almost anything – in the world. It gave her purpose, a place to put her need for order and some appearance that she could affect change or create safety in her world.

 

But Mistress was a part of her. She was born out of the desire to command, to control, to mother. She had wiped away all of Natalie’s fears and anxieties about her inability to connect or communicate. Separating Mistress, pulling her away from where she really belonged, left Natalie isolated, anxious. It left her alone.

 

She didn’t like being alone.

 

Natalie used to be proud of who she was, of the mountain the Mistress in her had to climb. Of reaching the summit on her own and with little assistance.

 

At what point had Mistress become a burden? A sharp secret instead of a proud accomplishment.

 

When she was just a cop, a regular beat cop, she didn’t care what Mistress did.

 

Mistress had made her stronger, bolder.

 

It was that bravery and gusto that made her fight, and so when people started to notice, began to crave that order, she was there to quickly provide it. But, while Natalie rose to the top, Mistress sunk to the bottom, into the shadows. She became a secret, a double life.

 

She was all the forms of bold that Natalie couldn’t be. Natalie only pretended to be strong and impenetrable.

 

_Mistress did not._

 

Natalie could find a new job, she could start elsewhere from the ground up, but Mistress had become her lifeblood. Even now, just a few days away from her makes her tense, and Liz’s reappearance wasn’t helping.

 

She sighs again and goes back to the letter. She needed to finish this letter before she left. Before she said her final goodbye to this place.

 

Down the steps into the bullpen, Maze walks lightly while looking at the darkened light of the lab, her eyebrows furrowed in disappointment. Her eyes move to the first source of light, Natalie’s office. Shes steps into the bullpen and walks past the desks of officer’s working late until she’s at Natalie’s door. She doesn’t even knock, she just walks in.

 

“Where’s Ella?” Maze asks.

 

Natalie looks up from her letter, and her eyes cascade down Maze’s body.

 

Maze wore leather like a glove, a _leather_ glove.

 

Mistress would be pleased.

 

Natalie snaps out of it and goes back to her letter.

 

“Utah,” Natalie says, clearing her throat.

 

“Utah?” Maze says, “What is she doing in Utah?”

 

Natalie sighs, annoyed at the interruption and looks back up.

 

“Ms. Lopez’s presence was requested by the FBI to analyze a crime scene from a potential Los Angeles based serial killer. She will be on-site for two days and will return when she is done.”

 

“Utah!” Maze says, disappointed as she plops down on a chair in front of Natalie’s desk.

 

Natalie looks up at her, her eyes narrowing at Maze sitting down. She was meant to leave and do whatever it is she usually does this late, _not_ sit down.

 

“I would have thought she would have told you about it,” Natalie says, an annoyance in her voice, “considering you two are … _you know_. ”

 

Natalie goes back to her letter.

 

Maze furrows her eyebrows and tilts her head, “What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 

Natalie looks up and sees Maze staring back at her, her arms crossed. Natalie sighs and shakes her head. It wasn’t like her to get involved. She had warned Ms. Lopez against this very thing, and here she is, _fraternizing again_.

 

 _It really has been a long week_ , she thinks.

 

“It’s none of my business, forget I said anything,” she says, turning her head back down to the letter.

 

Maze leans forward, “What are we?”

 

Natalie looks up and stares at Maze. She has that look in her eye like she was telling Natalie what to do but without saying it. Natalie narrows her eyes, unsure if this is another one of her attempts at intimidation.

 

“Co-workers,” Natalie says as if it weren’t obvious.

 

Maze rolls her eyes, “Not you and me. Ella and me.”

 

“Oh,” Natalie says.

 

She smiles a bit, seeing a chance to annoy Maze. A little payback for the evening before.

 

“Dating,” she says nonchalantly.

 

Maze laughs and sits back in her seat, shaking her head.

 

“No, no … no, Ella and I aren’t dating.”

 

She pauses and leans forward, “Why, did she say that?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “I just assumed. You two spend quite a bit of time together. And then there’s the whole … you two being intimate thing.”

 

“She told you about that?” Maze says flatly.

 

“No, not in so many words,” Natalie says, recalling her hiding beneath Ella’s desk, “Let’s just say I am very _intuitive_.”

 

“Well, then your intuition is shit. We just hooked up the one ... well, _technically_ two times, and that’s it. Besides, Ella isn’t into women. That has become _quite_ apparent.”

 

Natalie chuckles and goes back to her writing.

 

“I will not miss the confusing and frustrating, intermingling of office and personal life that seems to happen here,” Natalie says.

 

Maze crosses her arms and raises her head to see what Natalie is doing.

 

“Won’t miss?” she says, suddenly noticing how clean Natalie’s desk is. It’s never this clean.

 

“What are you doing?” Maze says, nodding to Natalie’s laptop.

 

Natalie raises her head again, sees Maze eyeing her laptop, and looks back down her screen.

 

“I’m writing a letter,” she says.

 

“No shit, I can see that. Who’s it for?”

 

Natalie sighs and slouches in her chair.

 

“If you _must_ know Ms. Smith, I am resigning as Lieutenant of this department.”

 

Maze raises her eyebrows and uncrosses her arms.

 

“What?! Why?”

 

“Because some less than _pleasant_ things might be coming to light soon about my … personal life. I’d rather step down than be forced out,” she says.

 

“Forced out? Are you getting fired?”

 

Natalie shrugs, “Maybe.”

 

“But you’re like _married_ to your job,” Maze says, confused.

 

“And half of marriages end in divorce. What is your point?” Natalie says, annoyed.

 

Maze shrugs, not understanding but willing to let it go. The topic didn’t really interest her anyway.

 

“I’m still technically on a probationary period,” Natalie says, “Once they find out about my … once they find out about me, I will no doubt be fired. And you know … perhaps it’s for the best,” Natalie says, trying to convince herself.

 

 

“They are firing you because you like women?” Maze says, her eyebrows furrowed.

 

Natalie laughs, “No. Don’t be silly. Everyone already knows that.”

 

Maze narrows her eyes, “So what is this thing that no one knows that is going to get you kicked out?”

 

Natalie shakes her head, “It doesn’t matter. All that matters is that perhaps this is a good thing. You know? The department is running smoothly so it will be easy for someone more experienced to come in and take the reins and as for me …it will give me time to think about life and career and …”

 

“Your bitch of an ex-girlfriend,” Maze says.

 

Natalie chuckles and shakes her head.

 

“I’m just making it easier for everyone involved. The last thing this department needs is another scandal,” she says, a small smile coming across her face that seems sad.

 

Maze squints her eyes and nods.

 

“So, this has nothing to do with Liz?” Maze asks, confirming before she decides whether or not she wants to punch Natalie in the arm.

 

Natalie frowns, “ _God_ no. Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

“Okay. Good. Going out on your own terms,” Maze says, nodding, impressed, “I respect that.”

 

Natalie shakes her head with a smile and goes back to writing. Maze watches Natalie for a moment, still nodding as her brain spins a mile a minute.

 

Natalie wasn’t a demon. No, it was clear at this point that Natalie was a human.

 

Yet, there is a mystery surrounding her that Maze can’t quite pinpoint. She’s strong and bold and knows exactly what she wants. However, in certain moments, that whole thing falls, and Natalie reveals an uncharacteristic fragility.  That fragility seems like a secret itself, like something Natalie tries hard to hide. Yet, Maze sees it, and it both intrigues and pisses her off.

 

She wanted her to be stronger.

 

If she had to admit, despite her annoying tendency to tell Maze no, she respected the Lieutenant. Perhaps precisely because she tells Maze no.

 

It reminded her of home, but the best parts about it. The strength of her brothers and sisters without the need for blood or the worry about selfish behavior. Everything demons do is for a reason, to get them somewhere.

 

Like Maze, with following the Lieutenant and trying to seek out a weakness she can exploit to get what she wanted. But Natalie wasn’t like that, or at least she didn’t seem to be. Her actions had a purpose, sure, but that purpose wasn’t just for herself.

 

She was leaving the department, clearly against her own desires, and she was doing so out of concern for what might happen if she doesn’t. It was odd.

 

She was a perfect combination of a demon and human, and Maze has no idea where that comes from.

 

She wants to know where that comes from.

 

 _Huh_ , she thinks that intrigue spinning into confusion.

 

How did someone like Liz catch Natalie’s attention?

 

Liz was … boring, manipulative, and not even that pretty.

 

Sure, she was attractive in a little house on the prairie way, but not _hot_.

 

Natalie was … Natalie _is_ hot.

 

Maze pauses, catching herself thinking about Natalie’s body.

 

_Is that why she had been stalking her?_

 

“Well, for someone so perceptive, you have horrible taste in women,” Maze says, fully aware of how bitchy that sounds.

 

Natalie looks up at her, a shock in her eyes at how sudden and harsh those words sound.

 

“I mean, you _seem_ smart, so you got that going for you, I guess, but everything else? Stupid.” Maze says.

 

Natalie smiles and goes back to writing her letter.

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say that were a compliment,” she says.

 

Maze frowns, “I don’t give compliments. I only state facts,” she says.

 

Natalie chuckles.

 

“You do have a very terse nature about you that I find appealing,” Natalie admits, “It’s rare to find someone like you in a place like this. Everyone likes to speak in circles, bureaucratic talk.”

 

“It’s annoying, isn’t it?” Maze says.

 

“Frustrating.”

 

Maze nods, smiling before turning her eyes to Natalie as she writes the letter. Her smile falls, a question forming in her mind.

 

“So why didn’t you do anything?” Maze asks.

 

Natalie looks up at her.

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You knew she broke an oath, and you did nothing,” Maze says.

 

Natalie sighs and leans away from her keyboard. She wasn’t going to finish writing this letter, not with Maze here.

 

“Ms. Smith, I …” she begins, ready to chastise her for poking way too far into her personal life.

 

“You started this,” Maze says, recognizing that tone, “besides. I’m your temporary girlfriend, remember? We have to like … _bond_ or something.”

 

Natalie scoffs, amused, and sits back in her seat. She nods to herself for a moment before linking her fingers and crossing her leg.

 

“As my temporary girlfriend, you should know that I don’t like talking about my feelings. Feelings are illogical and all-encompassing. They are a waste of time and energy.”

 

“True, but you’re human, and humans have feelings. They inform what you do, and I want to know why you didn’t do anything.”

 

Natalie squints her eyes.

 

“We can do that fire to paper thing if you want,” Maze says, rolling her eyes.

 

“Burn after reading?” Natalie says.

 

Maze nods.

 

Natalie sighs and shakes her head before looking away into the bullpen. If she were going to do this, become one person again, then perhaps she had to deal with what had split her to begin with.

 

Liz.

 

“I needed time,” she says.

 

“To figure out where to hide the body?” Maze says, nodding.

 

Natalie chuckles, thinking that to be a joke.

 

“No,” she says, her smile falling, “I needed time to fall out of love.”

 

“Oh,” Maze says.

 

Natalie nods.

 

“Part of me wanted to fight. Wanted to … yell and scream and kick. Part of me wanted to pretend it didn’t affect me, to move on coldly.”

 

“Tell me the fighting part won,” Maze says.

 

Natalie shakes her head, “Part of basic training is suppressing that flight response. Keeping yourself from running away from the problem.”

 

Maze narrows her eyes, “You ran,” she says.

 

“I admit my reasonings for not saying anything at first were selfish. I was miserable. Knowing that the woman I loved didn’t love me anymore if she ever really did.”

 

“So you ran like a bitch,” Maze says, trying to get to the root of the problem.

 

Natalie chuckles and nods, “At first, yes, but then … then I decided to stay because-.”

 

“Because you’re stupid,” Maze says, completing that sentence for her.

 

Natalie scoffs again, laughing at how blunt Maze is. She appreciated it. It was much easier approaching her feelings when she wasn’t being coddled.

 

Natalie shakes her head.

 

“I stayed because I wanted to make her as miserable as I was,” she says, “I stayed, and I became the perfect girlfriend. I did all the things she had asked me to do that I would never do. I mean, stupid walks in the park-“

 

“Ugh,” Maze says grossed out by the prospect.

 

“Being romantic in inappropriate places, namely public-”

 

“PDA,” Maze says, nodding, “It has its benefits.”

 

Natalie shakes her head in disagreement but pushes on with what she wants to say anyway.

 

“I did things and said things to fuel her guilt. I _wanted_ to watch her suffer.”

 

Maze narrows her eyes and leans forward, an intense curiosity and intrigue behind her eyes.

 

“You tortured her,” she says.

 

Natalie nods, “In some ways, yes.”

 

A delighted smile crawls across Maze’s face.

 

“How was it?”

 

“Revenge was … _intoxicating_ ,” Natalie says, remembering it fondly, “but it is a double-edged sword. The more I did things to make her feel guilty, the more she tried to add distance between us. The more distant she became, the more in love I fell.  I stayed because I wanted time to fall out of love, so it was less painful when Liz told me – _if_ she told me.”

 

“And?”

 

“Turns out, I should have just ripped the band-aid off,” Natalie says.

 

“Mmm,” Maze says, nodding and looking at Natalie.

 

She turns her head, remembering what her own heartbreak felt like. It was painful, finding out the way she did. She wanted to torture them, but it only caused more problems. More pain.

 

“You know, you’re perhaps the only human I fully understand,” Maze says.

 

Natalie scoffs amused, “Yet I still don’t understand why you _insist_ on calling everyone a human, like you aren’t. Though, I appreciate your vote of confidence.”

 

Natalie turns her glance back to the email. She supposes she could finish it at home when she had less … interruptions.

 

“You know what I don’t get,” Maze says as Natalie closes out windows on her laptop before shutting it down.

 

“No, but I imagine you will tell me,” Natalie says.

 

“How did someone like _you_ end up with someone like Liz.”

 

Natalie raises her head and thinks.

 

“That’s a good question,” she says, “and I supposed I don’t really know how it all worked. Liz was supposed to be a one-night stand, but she had a way of making me think I had her full attention. I guess at the time, I craved that.”

 

She pauses as if something is just dawning on her.

 

They sit in silence for a moment as she thinks.

 

“You know, for the brief time that I was in foster care, I carried most of my belongings in trash bags,” Natalie says, “I guess moving was easier if I kept everything in a bag.”

 

“At least you had belongings. The only thing I ever owned was my knives,” Maze says, “Though, I guess now I actually have …possessions. _Huh_.”

 

Natalie smiles, “It’s why I’m good at my job. I’m so used to keeping track of everything because I’ve always had so little. So, now every paper has its place, and every file has its purpose.”

 

“That’s one way to look at it,” Maze says, crossing her arms.

 

Natalie sighs and turns her eyes to the dark screen of her laptop. She had worked so hard to get here, but the two sides of her couldn’t function as individuals anymore. Natalie was falling apart, and Mistress was anxious, ready. She never had to be two people before Liz. She never had to _pretend_.

 

“Mm,” she hums to herself, a thought path opening in her brain.

 

“Liz was the first woman to love me for who I am,” Natalie says, “She may be many things, and _yes,_ manipulative is one of those things.”

 

Maze scoffs and nods, her eyes suggesting Natalie weren’t lying.

 

“But at the end of the day, I did things for her _because_ I loved her. She was a first for me in many ways. She was the first time I felt loved. The first time I felt at home _anywhere_.”

 

Maze watches as Natalie slides her laptop into a sleeve and zips it up. Then she sits there silently, staring at her laptop sleeve.

 

She stares at it far too long before looking up and catching Maze’s eyes. There is a soft glaze over them, like a thin film of water.

 

 _There it is_ , Maze things, _that fragility she hated so much._

 

“I allowed myself to feel that and she …”

 

Natalie pauses, realizing she is about to pour her heart out. To Ms. Smith of all people.

 

 _God,_ Natalie was really falling apart. She turns her eyes up to the sky.

 

“I hear it now,” she says, flatly turning to Maze, “I sound _fucking_ pathetic.”

 

Maze burst out into laughter and nods.

 

“Yeah, Yeah, you really do.”

 

Natalie smiles and pulls her hands up to her face. She sighs before pulling her hair back and sitting back in her chair.

 

She takes a long gaze around her office as if this were the last time she’d see it. The last time it was hers.

 

 “I need a drink,” she says.

 

She turns to see Maze sitting there, silent and nodding to herself as if thinking.

 

Natalie slowly stands before reaching down and taking the badge off her waist and dropping to the desk. Next, she pulls the lanyard from her belt buckle  -  the one with her ID card – and drops it on the table too.

 

The finality in her movement makes Maze furrow her eyebrows. She didn’t like it.

 

“You don’t have to go,” Maze says, “I’m sure whatever you did, we can pay someone to make it slide. Or, I can just _threaten_ to break their ankles.”

 

Natalie laughs and shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything as she reaches over and picks up her purse. She stuffs her phone inside before she drapes the purse straps around her arm.

 

“I appreciate your concern,” she says, moving to grab a thin sweater off a nearby file cabinet.

 

“But you can save your aggressive exuberance for the next Lieutenant. God help them.”

 

“I don’t need his help,” she says offended.

 

Natalie smiles and reaches for the laptop sleeve on the desk, allowing her sweater to drape over it as she picks it up. She nods, takes one last look around before turning to Maze.

 

“It was a pleasant displeasure to have worked with you, Ms. Smith.”

 

Maze shakes her head, not liking this at all.

 

“So, what are you going to do now?” she asks.

 

“For work? I have a few ideas. For now, though, I believe I will … go to a bar. Perhaps drown my growing discontent with life in a few beers and possibly a stranger.”

 

“Sounds fun. I’ll join you.”

 

Maze gets up from her seat, and Natalie stops her.

 

“Uh, Ms. Smith, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

 

“You’re quitting the LAPD. That means we don’t work together anymore, right?”

 

“Uh,” Natalie says, realizing Maze is right.

 

She pauses, her eyes squinting.

 

“Are we friends?” she asks.

 

“No,” Maze scoffs amused, “but for tonight, we _are_ drinking buddies.”

 

Natalie sighs and nods.

 

“Fine, but I’m _not_ paying this time,” Natalie says.

 

Maze shrugs, “you see what I’m wearing, right? You won’t have to.”

 

Natalie looks down at her clothing and tilts her head.

 

“What kind of bar do you think we are going to?” Natalie asks.

 

“Does it matter? This ass gets free drinks anywhere I go.”

 

Natalie rolls her eyes and turns to flip the switch on the wall, drowning the office in darkness.

 

“Well?” she says, ushering Maze out of her … _the_ office.

 

Maze walks by, pleased, and Natalie turns to the dark office one last time. She looks around before nodding.

 

Natalie had a good run, but perhaps it was time.

 

\--

Inside Lucifer’s penthouse, Chloe and Lucifer are both nude on his couch. She straddles him, rising and falling on his lap as he holds her waist, matching his gentle thrusts to her rhythm. Her moans are loud and unrestrained. Each delicious noise from her forms goosebumps on his skin.

 

He tilts his head back as a wave of pleasure hits him.

 

“Oh,” he moans, “You’re so beautiful.”

 

She breathily laughs and leans in to kiss him. He sits up slightly and wraps his arms around her torso. She starts to grinds against him, her moans filtering through his kiss. He plants his hands on her ass, grabbing them and pulling her closer into him as she grinds.

 

She pulls away from his kiss, her hips’ gyrations becoming more aggressive.

 

“Lucifer,” she moans.

 

“I love it when you say my name like that,” he says.

 

“and I love your cock,” she says.

 

He growls, and forces pushes her down onto his lap even harder as she grinds. Her dirty words did more to him than he knew or could put into words himself. He had heard it from many women, how much they loved his body, but hearing it from her sets a new precedence for his arousal.

 

“Lucifer,” she whines again, her grinding speeding up as she starts to lose control, chasing an orgasm.

 

“Darling, I will never tire of hearing my name on your lips,” he coos.

 

She pants, her hips gyrating against him, allowing him to hit that spot in her, to fill an emptiness inside her in only the way he can.

 

“Fuck,” she whines, her eyes tightly closed.

 

She leans in, wrapping her hands around his neck, holding onto him for dear life as he continues to push and pull her body on his.

 

As her hips continue to gyrate.

 

As their moans and groans and the soft panting of their breaths fill up a room that has heard this all before.

 

“Come on,” he says, wanting to hear her crack, wanting to see her crumble in the light.

 

She continues to grind against him, her eyes tightly closed.

 

“Lucifer,” she moans again.

 

“Chloe,” he says softly.

 

She opens her eyes and meets his glance.

 

“I want to feel you cum again,” he says.

 

She reaches down between them with both hands and grips onto his lower back, pulling herself closer to him. She can’t get any closer, but she wants to feel like she can.

 

 Like his body is tightly pressed against hers.

 

Like she has every inch of him in her.

 

She grinds faster, wilder. Lucifer groans, tossing his head back.

 

“Fuck,” she whines as she grinds.

 

“Fuck!” she says again, her grinding picking up speed.

 

He raises his head just as she turns that corner and her eyes roll back in her head. Her muscles tense up, and her grinding comes to an almost complete stop as an orgasm hits her.

 

He feels her body collapsing around him and grunts, his jaw slacks, and a sound comes from him like he had jumped head-first into a cold pool of water.

 

With her, he would never get used to that feeling.

 

He uses his hands to push and pull her body against his, plunging himself in and out of her. She rests a hand on his abdomen, her body tense, as waves of pleasure run over her.

 

She moans with each of his thrusts until her body leans forward, slacking against him. He thrusts into her, her body well lubricated against his own. She lies against him, her shoulder just on the side of his face. She turns to him, and he turns to her. Her lids are heavy with contentment, her cheeks flush from arousal. She was looking at him in a way he had only wished for, and still, his expectations were remarkably low compared to what he is finding.

 

She sits up, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“Was that good for you?” he asks, a grin on his face, already knowing the answer.

 

She smiles and leans in to kiss him. It’s a deep, intense kiss that feels like a ‘thank you.’

 

“I’ve had better,” she says, pulling away, a cheeky smile on her face.

 

He looks at her offended before he notices the smile.

 

“Oh, you vixen,” he says, wrapping his arms around her and tossing her onto the space next to him. She giggles as her back softly hits the cushion of the couch, her head laying against the armrest.

 

Here, he immediately plants his mouth on her pussy, licking and lapping at the wet folds until he wraps his lips again around her clit. She visibly shudders, still sensitive on the back of her orgasm.

 

He chuckles warmly as she pulls her body away from him, but he doesn’t let her go.

 

“Ooh, too much,” she says, tapping his head and moving him from her.

 

He pulls away from her, a sincere smile on his face before he takes a position between her legs and slides himself into her. She rests her head against the armrest as she feels him slide into her.

 

“Mm,” she hums.

He sets his hand on the back of the seat next to him, while the other grabs her ankle and holds her leg open, giving him clear sight of his cock disappearing into her.

She softly moans, and he grunts as the pit in his gut is hit with another wave of pleasurable contractions.

 

“You feel so good,” she whines.

 

He begins to thrust harder and faster, each thrust sending an audible clap through the penthouse followed by shockwaves that ripple her skin and makes her breasts jump.

 

She’s moaning louder now, now that making noise is an option. He continues to thrust hard as Chloe reaches down and holds onto her breasts, keeping them from jarring too much.

 

“Yes!” she screams, “Lucifer!”

 

He growls and reaches out to wrap his hand around either side of her hips. Here he puts weight onto her and pulls her close before continuing his thrust, his mouth open, and his breathing now ragged.

 

She starts moaning louder now as he thrust hard, so hard his wings pop out.

 

He pauses and looks at her with wide eyes as if embarrassed.

 

“Sorry,” he says, before rolling his shoulders back and collapsing them into his body again.

 

“That’s … never happened,” he says.

 

She chuckles at him, and his embarrassment falls into amusement as well.

 

“Oh, you find that funny?” he says, leaning forward and sliding his hands beneath her.

 

He leans his body onto her and holds her ass in place before he starts to thrust again in short, quick, and concise patterns that effectively shut her up. At least her laughing, her moaning has returned to being loud and unbridled.

 

She does it directly into his ear, heating up a light behind his eyes that makes him hold onto her tighter. He continues his assault on her insides, beginning to get lost again in the pleasure of her body. In the pleasure of having someone who loves him and he loves in return. In the pleasure of knowing she would be there for him, and he could now be there for her.

 

Suddenly, his wings pop out again, and he pauses.

 

He groans in dismay.

 

“Bloody wings!” he says, annoyed they keep interrupting him.

 

She laughs and wraps her arms around his neck.

 

“Leave them out,” she says.

 

He looks at her shocked until his face falls into amusement.

 

“Ohh,” he coos, “Darling, I didn’t know you were so kinky. I like it.”

 

She rolls her eyes as he goes back to thrusting into her. She starts to moan again, the loud clap of their skin filling the room. She looks down between them, seeing him disappear into her body.

 

He’s breathing heavily over her, soft grunts coming from his throat every few seconds. She moves her hands down from his neck and onto his lower back. Then she drags them up, towards his shoulder blades, towards the spots where his wings jut out. Here, she slides her fingers through the feathers curiously, like she was sliding them through his hair.

 

It’s a sensation he’s never felt, and it sends a strong and visible shudder across his body until he groans, making an oddly vocal and high pitched sound. Seconds later, he is jettisoned into an early climax. His body shakes as he stops thrusting, his cock left deep inside of her as he spills himself into the condom. His eyes roll back in his head, and she stares at him with a shocked smile on her face.

 

He resumes thrusting into her in short, slow thrusts that are separated by a pause and a low grunt.

 

When he climbs out of the trenches of his orgasm, he looks at her, his eyes glazed in the fog of his climax, and she laughs.

 

“I think we found your spot,” she says.

 

“Darling,” he says, his breath heavy, “that was …that was ..”

 

She laughs, “You’re so easy to please,” she says.

 

“I didn’t even know that was an erogenous zone,” he says.

 

“Mm,” she says with a smile, “Well, you be a good devil, and I’ll touch you there every time from now on.”

 

Lucifer scoffs before leaning back and holding onto the condom as he pulls out of her.

 

“I don’t know why they just popped out like that. My apologies,” he says.

 

Chloe smiles and sits up as he pulls the condom off and ties it, keeping the contents from leaking out.

 

“I don’t know, it looks like you enjoyed it,” she says, “can’t be all that bad.”

 

“Oh, no, It was wonderful. I’m just apologizing that it ended so early,” he says, standing up and turning to head to the bathroom, “but if you give me a moment, I can get another condom, and we can start again.”

 

 

She smiles and watches him disappear into the bathroom before turning her head forward. Her smile suddenly turns to confusion as she looks out to see a brown piece of what looks to be parchment paper covered in plastic wrap and laying out in the open on the table.

 

“I must say, the cleanup on these things is amazing. It almost makes up for the reduction in feeling,” he says from the bathroom.

 

She doesn’t even hear him. She leans forward and sees strange markings. It looks like language, but no language she is familiar with. She furrows her eyebrows.

 

“Lucifer?” she asks.

 

“One moment,” he says from the bathroom.

 

“What is this on the coffee table?” she asks, leaning forward to touch the plastic.

 

“Hmm?” he says, poking his head out of the bathroom, a wet rag on his crotch.

 

He sees the plastic and the parchment paper and tilts his head.

 

He tosses the rag into the sink and walks over to his side table to tear off a new condom before heading down the steps and peering onto the table.

 

He recognizes the language.

 

“Oh,” he says, kneeling by the table and leaning over it as he reads.

 

 “Amenadiel actually came through,” he says.

 

“What? What is it?”

 

Lucifer points to a line at the top of the scroll, not that Chloe could read it.

 

“The book of Samael,” he says on the line.

 

“The thing we saw on the news?” Chloe says to confirm.

 

Lucifer nods.

 

Chloe backs away from the table, realizing how old this piece of paper is and also that it is stolen.

 

“Lucifer …”

 

“Hmm?” he says, not hearing the gravity in her voice as he reads.

 

His eyebrows furrow, and he shakes his head. None of this makes sense.

 

“What?” she asks, catching his glance.

 

“This doesn’t make any sense,” he says, “it’s all allegory.”

 

Chloe shrugs, “Well, the whole Bible is prevalent with allegory.”

 

“No, no,” he says, “this is all some sort of metaphor. There are no facts, no truths. Now I see why it was removed from the bible.”

 

He pauses for a second.

 

“Though,” he says to himself, his voice deep with curiosity, “Father does enjoy speaking in parables.”

 

Chloe chuckles to herself, and Lucifer looks at her, not laughing.

 

She stops smiling, seeing the seriousness in his eyes.

 

“This is important to you,” she says.

 

He nods, “I need to know what to do.”

 

She nods and turns to the paper.

 

“Well,” she says, “if you can’t figure it out, maybe it be best you take it to someone who can?”

 

Lucifer scoffs, “I doubt Dr. Martin can read Sumerian,” he says.

 

Chloe shakes her head, “No, but … perhaps you need to take it to someone who is familiar with this type of allegory? Someone who maybe has dedicated their life to reading these kinds of stories.”

 

Lucifer narrows his eyes, “You’re telling me I need to go to church, aren’t you?”

 

She smiles.

 

“You’re smart,” she says, cooing as she leans in.

 

“Don’t patronize me, Detective,” he says.

 

She mocks a frown and leans in further, placing her hand on his thigh.

 

“You’re _so_ smart,” she says, crawling forward.

 

He turns to her, unsure he likes the tone in her voice but also unable to look away. It’s kind of sexy.

 

“You’re so smart, _Samael_ ,” she says.

 

His smile immediately turns into a frown.

 

“Don’t call me that,” he says seriously, all pretense removed from his voice.

 

 “That’s your name, right? Your birth name?” she says, her tone still playful and sensual.

 

Lucifer nods, “I left that name behind a long time ago, Detective,”

 

Chloe smiles, “Sammy,” she says with a smile.

 

Lucifer shakes his head as if realizing what is going on, “Oh no, that is _not_ a nickname.”

 

Chloe coos, “My Little Sammy,” she says before chuckling with infectious laughter.

 

Lucifer smiles, “How dare you make fun of the name God chose. You know if I knew any better, I would say you were downright blasphemous. Besides, you know there is nothing _little_ about me.”

 

“Mmm,” she says, looking back down briefly at his still firm erection.

 

She turns her glance back to him, “Are you going to punish me, then?”

 

He chuckles warmly and nods before leaning over to her.

 

“Would you like to be?” he asks.

 

She wraps her arms around his neck as he straddles her on the ground.

 

“It depends,” she says.

 

“On what?”

 

“Can you do It in thirty minutes?” she asks

 

He chuckles and pulls the condom wrapper up to his mouth before ripping it open with his teeth.

 

“That sounds like a challenge, Detective.”

 

\--

 

Inside the hotel room, Calmos stirs beneath the covers.

 

His eyes slowly peel open, and he squints as he is met with the dim glow of a lamp on the bedside table. His brain doesn’t understand what it is seeing.

 

Once it realizes he isn’t in any familiar room, he jolts up in bed, tossing the covers off his naked torso. He looks around momentarily before seeing the sitting form of Ezria at the table by the window.

 

“Good Morning,” Ezria says, a strange sadness in his words, “Or should I say … Good evening?”

 

Calmos looks around, slowly realizing he is on earth, and last night wasn’t some strange hallucination. The sights, the smells, the food.

 

“What did you dream of?” Ezria asks, a smile forcing itself onto his lips.

 

An offering, as if he had something to be repentant about.

 

 _Dream,_ Calmos thinks.

 

He doesn’t think he knows what it means to dream.

 

“I,” he begins, his voice hoarse and deep, “I was sleeping.”

 

He seems shocked.

 

Ezria chuckles and stands before approaching the bed, “Yes, all day, in fact,” he says, sitting down on the mattress at Calmos’ feet, “You missed quite a bit.”

 

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Calmos frowns.

 

“You looked rather peaceful,” he says.

 

 _Angelic, even_ , he thinks.

 

Calmos sighs and tosses the cover off of him. Immediately he is met with cold and tosses the covers back on him. He was warm here and comfortable.

 

“I don’t think I can go back to not knowing what it feels like to lay on these,” he says.

 

Ezria chuckles, and his smile falls.

 

Calmos reaches up and stretches, Ezria watches him with an uncharacteristic hunger in his eyes.

 

He shuts his eyes and turns away, regret and guilt running through his head.

 

Last night he let it in, the darkness.

 

He had reserved it to tempt others, to make them do his bidding, but last night he had let it into his mind. It had told him things, made him want to do things. He had almost hurt Calmos, and if It weren’t for the visible city that surrounded him, he might have.

 

He had to escape, to let it outside to keep Calmos safe here, beneath the covers and warm.

He couldn’t do that anymore. His gift at times felt like a curse, but … he was more than willing to be damned outside, in the city, than here in Calmos’ eyes.

 

“You look upset, My Lord,” Calmos says.

 

Ezria turns to him to see Calmos staring at him, concern in his eyes.

 

Ezria sighs and stands.

 

“I thought about it all night and … despite my interest in having you as a sentinel, I think you are correct in your suggesting that it would be safer for you to be up here, as a crossroads demon.”

 

Calmos’ eyebrows furrow. He thought they had already made a decision about this.

 

Why was Ezria flip-flopping again?

 

“I … okay,” Calmos says, unsure but not willing to put up a fight about it.

 

Either one of those options was great. At least this way, he would experience sleep again, hopefully on something as soft as the mattress he was currently on.

 

“May I ask why, my Lord? You seemed eager to have me as your sentinel,” he says before pausing and frowning, “or have you placed more consideration into me being part human?”

 

Ezria shakes his head, “No. It has nothing to do with you,” he says, “I …”

 

 

Ezria pauses, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to say. He turns and moves back to his chair to sit.

 

 Amenadiel’s words play in his head, and his stomach begins to churn.

 

“I uhm,” he says, his throat suddenly dry, “I did think about you, all night in fact, but … it had nothing to do with the circumstances of your birth.”

 

“Okay,” Calmos says, “You thought more about what you would like me to do?” he asks.

 

“In a manner of speaking,” Ezria says.

 

Calmos looks at him worried and reaches down to his pants to realize he isn’t wearing any. He is just wearing soft cotton boxer briefs.

 

Where were his blades? He looks up at Ezria, and Ezria holds his hand out.

 

“They weren’t unpleasant thoughts,” Ezria says, trying to calm him, “they were … good thoughts. Well, mostly.”

 

“Murder?” Calmos asks.

 

Ezria chuckles, “Murder is not a good thought, Calmos,” he says.

 

“I don’t know, you seemed rather pleased with what you did to that demon.”

 

Ezria’s smile falls again, this time to defense.

 

“He was going to harm you,” Ezria says, “I did what anyone would do.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “ _No one_ would do that for me,” he says before pausing.

 

Atmos wouldn’t even do that for him. Atmos had taught him how to fight, and his sending demons to the void wasn’t for Calmos’ defense but more so for protecting his own name. Every time someone called Calmos strange, or questions his demon-hood. He wonders if Atmos would even step in if someone threatened to kill him.

 

“I suppose that means I should trust you more,” Calmos says, his stare blank, “but old habits, I suppose.”

 

Ezria nods.

 

“The truth is,” Ezria says sadly, turning his head back to the city, “perhaps you should be afraid of me.”

 

Calmos shakes his head, “I don’t understand.”

 

Ezria sighs and stands.

 

“Calmos, I must confess that wanting you as my sentinel wasn’t entirely selfless. You are strong and unique, and despite me having no doubt that you would make an excellent sentinel I …”

 

He pauses.

 

He thought about what he would say all day. How he would keep the demon away from him. How he would protect Calmos from himself.

 

He had brought Calmos here, with him to earth to protect him from the other demons, but … perhaps he was safer with the demons.

 

He had spent all day wondering if it were possible, keeping Calmos away from him. Ezria had grown fond of him.

 

His friendship was … _important,_ but it was only a matter of time before _he_ showed up again; the darkness within him, the other side of himself.

 

The one that had been so consumed with revenge that Ezria willingly opened the doors when Abel offered. He had also willingly opened the doors last night when the other option was …

 

He shakes that thought out of his head. He wasn’t a monster.

 

At least not _all_ the time.

 

“You what?” Calmos says, standing there as Ezria stares into nothing.

 

Ezria’s eyes turn to him, no longer looking into thin air but looking at Calmos. Looking at his matted hair, his battle-scarred chest and the creamy white flesh of his thighs. He turns his head away, not wanting to look when he says it.

 

“My true reasons for keeping you near was because I wanted to spend more time with you,” he says.

 

Calmos raises an eyebrow.

 

“Okay,” he says, not seeing how this was an issue.

 

“I wanted to spend more time with you because I … recently I realized …what I’m trying to say is I …,” Ezria says, tripping over his words.

 

“My Lord, if you don’t want me to be your sentinel, I understand. You don’t have to-“

 

“I have feelings for you,” he says, interrupting Calmos.

 

Calmos pauses.

 

_Feelings?_

 

“Feelings?” Calmos asks, not sure what that means.

 

Ezria scoffs and turns to Calmos, angry and embarrassed as if Calmos should understand what he meant.

 

He was a halfling after all; part human.

 

“Imagine me, an Angel being fond of a demon. A halfling no less!” Ezria says, his embarrassment turning to anger.

 

“Fond of?” Calmos says, his eyebrows furrowing more as it slowly begins to dawn on him what the fuck Ezria is trying to say.

 

“And last night I struggled…. I resisted him for you. I told him no, for _you_. I want you in more ways than I could possibly fathom, and you must know, you must know I would never do anything to harm you.”

 

Calmos just stares, his heart starting to beat through his chest.

 

 _Fond of?_ He thinks

_Feelings?_ He thinks.

 

What kind of feelings? Even more so, what was Calmos feeling now?

 

Curiosity, imagination these were all words he just learned, but this word he is thinking now has been on the tip of his tongue for … longer than he cared to imagine.

 

_Imagine._

 

“But I do struggle,” Ezria says, “and … and I will continue to do so if it means you are okay.”

 

“Struggle?” Calmos asks, slowly approaching him, his eyes staring at Ezria’s chest as if reading a book.

 

As if sorting through a thousand chapters trying to find the one word that explains what it is he is feeling.

 

_Feeling._

 

That word last night might as well have been a curse word. When he was struggling to understand how he could exist and what that meant.

 

Now it meant an awakening. Words to explain things he couldn’t explain before. So, what was he feeling now?

 

Now that this angel, this tall, beautiful man, was telling him he had feelings – that he was _fond of_ – him.

 

Elation? Admiration?

 

_What is the word he is looking for?_

 

“I told him no,” Ezria says, “I told him in no uncertain terms we would _not,_ but I don’t know how long I can hold him off.”

 

Calmos continues to walk forward, his eyes narrowing.

 

Validation? Lust?

 

 _What is it?_ Calmos thinks.

 

“I …,” Ezria says, his eyes dropping down as Calmos approaches, too close for comfort.

 

So close, he can see the pupils dilated in his eyes. Ezria stops talking, realizing Calmos isn’t listening. He is just staring, his eyes jumping back and forth between Ezria’s.

 

They stare at one another for a moment, both trying hard to find a word for what is happening.

 

“I really tried,” Ezria says, his voice small.

 

Calmos stares into the hazel eyes staring back at him. They are nervous, and despite what he knew this Angel was capable of, there is a softness there that is comforting.

 

He was a bad man, there was no doubt he was fighting with himself. Yet … his eyes flip back and forth between Calmos’, searching for an answer, for a response to his own admission.

 

Searching for the answer to how they would move on from here.

 

How would Calmos be his sentinel when all he could think about was his body and what he could do to it?

 

How would their burgeoning friendship survive? Or had it never been friendship to begin with?

 

Maybe it had always been a cat and mouse game, and Ezria had pre-emptively set off a trap to prevent Calmos from running into it.

 

Ezria had thrown himself in the puddle to keep Calmos’ feet from being wet.

 

No one had ever done that for him, or ever would, Calmos thinks.

 

It feels good to have someone be … _fond._

 

“Hope,” Calmos says, finally finding the word to what he feels.

 

Hope that life was more than carrying water.

 

Hope that is was more than wading through flesh and bone and sweat.

 

More than just making knives and watching mortals crush their own spirit.

 

Calmos had hope. He liked having hope.

 

They stand there for a moment, staring at one another, exchanging messages in their eyes to speak the words left unspoken. A small smile starts to peel into the corner of Ezria’s lips.

 

“Hope,” he repeats, nodding.

 

Hope that life was more than a cage, more than than the all-consuming pain of divinity lost.

 

Calmos’ eyes drop down Ezria’s frame them meet back at his eyes. He reaches out a shaky hand and sets it on Ezria’s bare chest.

 

He hadn’t felt the angel, only seen him. This was the first time he truly touches his skin, the first time he’s felt the heat beneath his fingers. His hands shake as he traces across Ezria’s prominent collarbone. Ezria was thin, his ribs easily visible from beneath his skin.

 

This was definitely not the body of someone who had a millennial of free-roaming. Despite all this, Calmos had no doubt that Ezria was ten – if not hundreds of times stronger than he looked.

 

Ezria watches Calmos as his hand descends down and rolls over his ribs. Ezria moves his arms back, giving Calmos better access in his tender grazes, his eyes never leaving Calmos.

 

Calmos turns to him, and again they stare at one another. Slowly, cautiously, Calmos leans in until his lips touch Ezria’s. They stay there for a moment before Ezria’s lips part, allowing Calmos in. Ezria kisses back, and the nervous, tentative butterflies in Calmos’s stomach explode into an excited storm of electricity.

 

Ezria had kissed him back.

 

They lightly kiss each other, Calmos’ hand placed gently on Ezria’ chest. Ezria brings his arms around Calmos and pulls him closer until their skin touches. Slowly, their cautious kisses melt into each other.

 

Their kisses aren’t frantic, but they are passionate like both had spent an eternity without this kind of touch. Ezria walks them forward until they hit the edge of the bed, and Ezria collapses on top of Calmos.

 

Here, Ezria moves to lay on his side, his legs intertwined with Calmos as they continue to kiss.  Ezria’s hand traces down the exposed flesh of Calmos’ torso before landing just above the waistband of his cotton underwear.

 

His fingers cautiously slip beneath the band, staying away from either side of his body. Instead, they rest there on the naked flesh of his hip.

 

Calmos reaches a shaky hand up to Ezria’s face and holds it there, his tongue exploring the inside of Ezria’s mouth. Ezria pulls away and reaches up to grab Calmos’ hands. He looks at it, then back to Calmos.

 

“You’re shaking,” he says.

 

“It must be the human part of me,” he says, smiling.

 

He leans in again, and Ezria moves away, his eyebrows furrowed in disappointment.

 

He shakes his head and pulls away from Calmos. Calmos looks at him, confused.

 

“My Lord?” he asks, “I … I can’t help my hand, but I apologize if I’ve offended you.”

 

Ezria shakes his head and stands, “No, no, it’s not your fault. It’s my fault. I … I shouldn’t be tempting you like this.”

 

Calmos shakes his head and sits up on his knees, “No, My lord. You did not tempt me.”

 

Ezria scoffs, “We shouldn’t … _I_ Shouldn’t-“

 

“We should,” Calmos says, “I’ve decided for myself that we should.”

 

Ezria turns to him, staring again. Calmos tilts his head.

 

“You’re the one holding this up,” Calmos says, crossing his arms.

 

Ezria narrows his eyes.

 

“So, you don’t feel tempted?” Ezria asks.

 

“Not in the way you speak of, no,” Calmos says, his eyes drifting down Ezria’s body.

 

“And you chose to kiss me of your own accord?” Ezria asks again.

 

“And I’d like to do it again if you let me, My Lord.”

 

Ezria thinks for a moment and nods. He approaches the bed and kneels on it, climbing to kneel in front of Calmos. They sit there momentarily before Calmos walks himself forward and sets a hand on Ezria’s chest.

 

“I’ve never … done this before,” Ezria says, “with a man, I mean.”

 

 “and neither have I,” Calmos says with a soft smile.

 

“but I would like to, with you,” Calmos says.

 

Ezria nods, staring like a deer in headlights.

 

“Okay,” he says, nervous but excited.

 

“Okay,” Calmos replies, nervous but excited.

 

\--

 

On the platform that opens up to the skies, God stands still. His eyes are closed, and he leans lovingly into an impossible wind as if it is telling him a story.

 

“Father!” he hears behind him.

 

He opens his eyes slowly, the galaxy swirling behind them. They are covered in a dew of yearning that snaps into a pleased recognition.

 

“Amenadiel,” he says with a small smile as he turns, “I was hoping you would choose to see me.”

 

Amenadiel approaches him, wavering confidence now that he is standing in front of God. When he was by himself, he had convinced himself he could do this. But now, standing in front of his creator, he falters for a second. God looks at him and frowns.

 

“You’re upset with me,” God says, “you’ve been stewing for days.”

 

“You knew,” Amenadiel says, upset.

 

“You knew I could do nothing, and yet you did _nothing_ to stop me.”

 

God nods, “The truth is not what you desired,” he says, “you wanted comfort and peace, and I gave you permission to have that.”

 

“You lied to me!” Amenadiel says.

 

God narrows his eyes.

 

“What exactly did I lie about?” God asks, tilting his head.

 

Amenadiel moves to open his mouth before closing it. Father hadn’t explicitly said that Amenadiel could help Lucifer, or that whatever was happening hadn’t already happened. He didn’t say anything, only told him to do what he thought was necessary.

 

“Did you not come to me seeking comfort?” God asks, perplexed by Amenadiel’s illogic.

 

“Did I not give you comfort?” God asks.

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “You made the think –“

 

“I gave you what you wanted.”

 

“Your job is to not _give_ me what I want!” Amenadiel snaps.

 

God pauses, and for a second, Amenadiel thinks he reads it as shock.

 

Imagine that God _shocked._

 

“You're … you’re supposed to give me what I _need._ I don’t need you to coddle me, Father. I am a man, and I can handle it.”

 

“I see,” he says, a smile back on his face, now wider than ever.

 

“What … what is this, what are you doing?” Amenadiel asks, not familiar or comfortable with God’s display of … happiness? Elation?

 

“It’s been so long since I’ve just … _looked_ at you. How are you fairing? How is Linda?”

 

“I’m fine, she’s fine, but you know that’s not why I’m here.”

 

God nods and sighs.

 

He turns back to the stars, a serious look now on his face.

 

“How I wish one of my children would come to just … _speak_ to me. It’s always father this, father that. Your mother would have –“

 

God pauses. He blinks a few times, staring down at his feet before turning back to the sky.

 

“Father?” Amenadiel asks.

 

God turns around, a look on his face as if he is disturbed by what he sees. He narrows his eyes and purses his lips in discontent.

 

“Do you feel that?” he asks.

 

Amenadiel looks around, “Feel what?”

 

“The doors beneath our feet are shifting,” he says,” more pathways are opening.”

 

“Father,” Amenadiel says.

 

“Mm,” God says, seemingly distracted as he looks around, connecting millions of dots in his mind.

 

Amenadiel sighs and steps forward, “Father! You keep distracting yourself, please.”

 

“Right,” God says, “putting whatever is happening in the back of his mind.

 

 It’s still there, it’s still calculating, but for now, Amenadiel has _most_ of his attention.

 

“Lucifer first,” God says.

 

Amenadiel nods, “Yes, please,” he says, crossing his arms before pausing.

 

He furrows his eyebrows and tilts his head.

 

“You … you said his name,” Amenadiel says in shock.

 

“Of course,” God says, “That is what he prefers to be called, correct?”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “But, you never say his name. You always call him Samael.”

 

“Certainly, I prefer the name I gave him but, he doesn’t seem to like it. He’s his own man now. He is in a unique position to make his own choices now so … Lucifer it is.”

 

“Okay,” Amenadiel says, over all of this, “What is going on? Father, I have been a blind and obedient son for my entire existence. I have never once questioned your plan or disobeyed your direct orders but …”

 

God narrows his eyes.

 

“But what?” he asks.

 

“But …,” Amenadiel says, gathering his courage, “but I _demand_ to know what is happening to Lucifer. The truth! All of it.”

 

God looks at Amenadiel with a blank expression. The stars in his eyes pull away into deep black void that pierces Amenadiel’s body and soul.

 

Amenadiel holds his breath, feeling like someone is gripping his lungs. But it isn’t a tight grip, just a gentle hug as if it were being brushed aside, like vines hanging over a doorway.

 

“Mm,” God hums, peering deep into Amenadiel.

 

He tilts his head, and Amenadiel lets out a gasp as suddenly the pressure off his body is gone.

 

God turns around, folding his hands behind his back as he stares into open space.

 

“Why is this happening?” Amenadiel asks, catching his breath, “He is changing, losing his connection to the celestial. What does that mean? Just yesterday, he was vomiting up soul tar and … and he’s been so angry lately and hungry and not at all himself.”

 

God nods and stares out into the universe.

 

“You desire the truth,” he says.

 

“Yes, I do,” Amenadiel says.

 

God nods and turns back to him.

 

“I cannot tell you everything, Amenadiel, for pathways still lay undisturbed. Any slight shift will throw off all we have planned for. What I will say is that Lucifer is getting what he has always desired. _Freedom_ to choose.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “What does that mean?”

 

God smiles.

 

“You’re smart,” he says, reaching up and tapping his head, “Use what I gave you. The anger, the hunger, the emotional turmoil. All rather … human qualities, yes?”

 

Amenadiel nods, “I _know_ this father. I’ve spoken to him, and he told me he is becoming mortal. I am simply asking why. He is one of us, an Angel, despite his disobedience. Why damn him with mortality? Hasn’t he been punished enough?”

 

God chuckles and shakes his head, “Your disgust with mortality is rather revealing of your own feelings Amenadiel. Perhaps you are the one I should be focused on,” he says.

 

“Is it not something to be upset about? Why else would you make him mortal if not to punish him?”

 

“Are you afraid I might make you mortal someday?” God asks.

 

“No, I ... I did not say that,” Amenadiel says.

 

God smiles and turns back to the universe. He stands there for a moment, his eyes ping-ponging back and forth as if watching a tennis match. He’s thinking about how much he can say, tracing the path of his words through all of existence.

 

“Sometimes, we must do things we do not desire. Sometimes we sacrifice ourselves for the benefit of others,” God says.

  
“So, that’s it?” Amenadiel asks, “him becoming human is the sacrifice in your prophecy?”

 

God laughs and shakes his head before turning to Amenadiel. He pauses, looking at him.

 

“I am your father, your creator, and the creator of all the light touches. Even the places it doesn’t. To you, I may be loving, caring, and attentive. Or I may be jealous, boorish, and prideful. Still, to others I may not even exist. Duality is a precarious thing. The nature of balance is itself a balancing act.”

 

‘Father,” Amenadiel says, trying to get him to get to the point.

 

God holds his hand up, “I believe you wanted the truth, did you not?”

 

“Yes, but I-“

 

“Then allow me,” God says.

 

Amenadiel sighs and nods.

 

“We do things that we don’t want to because it is what needs to be done. It is how things must be. So, when I tell you that Lucifer must be mortal, it is not out of punishment. It is not out of hatred. It is _definitely_ not out of disgust for humankind. It is because It must be done.”

 

“But why?” Amenadiel asks, “You created us to be the pinnacle of perfection. Why do all of that to then force imperfection on one of us? _Mortality_?”

 

“You’ve been around humans long enough, have they told you of their mythical Phoenix? The bird born from ash?

 

Amenadiel furrows his eyebrows, his thoughts going off the rails and connecting the dots. Suddenly his eyebrows rise, and his eyes widen.

 

“You’re going to kill him,” he says, horror in his voice.

 

God nods,” To kill implies finality,” he says, “Nothing is final. Death is only the beginning.”

 

Amenadiel shakes his head, “No. No, you cant. Why would you do that?”

 

“Because,” God says, “For my plan to work, for all of our hard work to bare fruit … the devil must die.”

 

Amenadiel’s eyes widen, he shakes his head.

 

“This has to be some sick joke, right?” he asks, a grim tone in his voice.

 

God smiles at him, “Do you want comfort, Amenadiel? Or would you like the truth?”

 


End file.
